


Around the Bend

by amerasu1013 (amerasu_1013)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canonical Character Death, Dark Steve Rogers, Evil Steve Rogers, Fucked Up, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Non-Consensual, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Violence, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Steve, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scary, Violence, Violent Thoughts, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerasu_1013/pseuds/amerasu1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The serum enhances a man - what's inside him. Steve is already a little... darker than others, what will the serum turn him into? It makes him stronger, faster, better - does it make him a monster, too?<br/> </p><p>  <em>And what if there is something wrong with one of the candidates? Something hidden, deep within, like a worm inside an apple. You can’t see it from the outside, but if you take a bite, suddenly there’s something strange on your tongue and it’s wriggling… What if there’s something wrong with one of the candidates, something they won’t notice even with the myriad of tests they have planned, what if they don’t create a super-soldier, but something else? Something like Schmidt... Something worse than Schmidt?</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. As usual: English is not my native tongue and this is unbetaed. If you find any mistakes, please point them out, I'll be happy to fix them!!  
> 2\. As usual: These characters are not mine, they belong to other people way more important than me. I'm just writing this for my (and your) amusement.  
> Additionally (added second of August 2015):  
> 3\. warning. Steve is DARK in here. Possessive, murderous, bloodthirsty. DARK. Especially where Bucky is concerned. Additional warnings in the chapter notes where I think they are relevant, but yeah. This is dark!Steve, people.
> 
>  
> 
> And now let's see what's around the bend...

**Two years ago**

Some days, Abraham’s life here in America does not feel all that different to what his life was like in Germany. He spends his days in a laboratory, working tirelessly from dusk till dawn. He drinks more coffee than he should, explains the same thing over and over to various people who do not want to listen, sleeps on a narrow cot in his office and dreams of wide open fields, a blue sky and freedom.

Then again, his life here is quite different to what it was back there at home.

His laboratory is big and new, and while it is underground, he does not feel as trapped here as he did in Schmidt’s lab. Even if there are no windows showing a stunning view of the Alps – it feels less like a prison. For one thing, there are no guards here. Well, there are, but they are here not to keep him from leaving, but to keep him safe from harm. Not that he does leave that often, actually, there is simply too much work to be done.

The people he has to explain his work to, they are different as well. They do not point guns at him, they don’t threaten to hurt him if he doesn’t cooperate. Sure, they too do not really understand what it is exactly he is doing, there is only one expert in his particular field and that is himself. Or rather, one expert here in this country. They want results, as Schmidt did, but they want to help, as well – and they do not want to hurt him. This is very different.

Funnily enough, though, the coffee is just as bad as it was back there.

His dream of blue skies and freedom… it may just be within his reach. If he can perfect his formula, that is. If he can make sure that it works. Properly, perfectly, not like last time.

Not like with Schmidt.

 

***

 

**Many years ago**

“Steve? Stevie, dinner!”

The skinny blonde doesn’t seem to hear his mother’s voice where he’s crouching in the backyard, close to the brick wall. His head is bent over a shape on the ground, completely immersed in what he’s looking at. He’s holding a stick in his right hand, the left is flattened on the ground to help keep his balance. His mother calls again and still Stevie shows no reaction.

He doesn’t hear the quiet footsteps approaching, nor does he look up when suddenly a shadow falls over him.

“There you are, Stevie!”

Now the boy flinches and falls backwards, landing on his ass. He jerks his head around to snarl at the person who startled him: “Hey!”

A second boy, older by only a few years, brown hair a right mess on his head, grins down at him. “Scared ya, didn’t I?”

Stevie scowls. “Don’t sneak up on me, Bucky!”

Bucky makes an innocent face. “I gotta practice on someone, don’t I? I wanna become a cat burglar and I can’t if I don’t practice. And your Mom is calling you.”

Stevie rolls his eyes and turns away. “You’re not a cat burglar, you’re a jerk!”

“Am not!” Bucky retorts happily and shoves Stevie. The smaller boy shoves back, but half-heartedly, his interest once again drawn by the shape on the ground.

“Whatcha got there, Stevie?” Bucky tries to crane his head around his friend to see what it is, but Stevie blocks his attempt. Bucky frowns and shoves him a little harder, until Stevie makes room with a grumble.

“Oh!”

It’s a dog, a small brown mutt, lying on the ground on its side. The animal is curled around its left front paw, which is bent at an odd angle – apparently it’s _broken_. There’s a reddish-brown stain on the fur of its leg, a bigger stain on the neck behind the left ear and a huge puddle of the same stuff on the ground below its head. This puddle though is more red than brown, it looks wet, as well. Bucky needs a second until he gets that this is _blood_.

“Oh no!” he gasps, “Stevie! What happened? Is it dead?”

Bucky notices a rock lying a few feet away, a _bloody_ rock – oh Jesus! Someone _hit_ that dog! Someone hit that poor dog and now it’s _dead_ and Jesus, who _does_ something like that? That’s just _evil_!

“I found it.” Steve shrugs and picks up his stick again.

Bucky frowns and bites his lip. This is bad, the poor dog, what if it belongs to someone? What if it’s a _people_ dog, it has really soft shiny fur, what if someone _misses_ it? And now it’s _lying_ there and it’s _dead_ and tears begin to prick at Bucky’s eyes because the _poor dog_ and Stevie found it and – _Steve is poking the dog with the stick_ , poking it right in its side!

“Don’t _do_ that, Stevie!” Bucky grabs his friend’s shoulder, “don’t _poke_ it!”

The dog choses that moment to let out a small whine.

The older boy gasps and takes a step back and Stevie pokes it again and the dog whines and Bucky pulls his friend back until the smaller boy lands on his ass again: “Don’t! Don’t, Stevie, don’t! We gotta help it!”

Stevie rolls his eyes, but lets go of his stick. “We can’t help it, idiot. You wanna bring it to my Mom or something? She’s a nurse, but not for animals, stupid. And the shelter would just put it down anyway.”

“But we gotta do something! It’s hurt and we gotta help!”

The blonde gets to his feet and dusts off the seat of his pants. “No one can help it, Bucky, it’s too late for that. It’s almost dead anyway.” His voice is calm, very matter of fact. Indifferent.

Bucky wrings his fingers, mouth twisted unhappily. “But…”

Stevie takes one of his hands and starts pulling him away. “C’mon, my Mom is calling. I think there’s beef casserole for dinner.”

The older boy looks back at the boy as he’s letting himself be pulled along. It still doesn’t feel like he should just leave, h should try and help, shouldn’t he? But Stevie’s yanking on his hand, pulling him away and Bucky frowns to himself. Stevie’s probably right. It’s almost dead anyway. The poor dog…

But Stevie’s probably right.

 

***

 

**One year ago**

Some days, Abraham’s life feels very much like his old life in Germany, even if he tries his hardest to not think that. It is not easy, sometimes, especially at night. And tonight is harder than most nights. Everybody has left the lab, he’s the only person left. Sits there, surrounded by high tech equipment, some machines still new and shiny, glinting in the semi-darkness.

The formula is ready. Now they need to find the candidates.

Abraham opens his second-to-last bottle from Augsburg and pours himself a drink. He has the feeling he will need it tonight, the numbness alcohol promises, the way it makes everything vague and comforting, the way it dulls the edges of his memories, so they don’t seem so sharp and painful anymore. Yes, he needs it, because he is scared.

He has done everything in his power to fix his formula, it has been tested and re-tested until he was _sure_ it is working properly. There will not be another Schmidt, not with this formula. It is ready. But still… he is scared.

Philipps scares him, the eager glint in the man’s eyes when he imagines an army of super-soldiers at his disposal. And if Abraham is completely honest, the idea of such an army scares him even more. Because… what if he is indeed successful? What if they do create such an army?

Aside from the fact that sometimes, late at night, the whole idea of super-soldiers seems uncomfortably close to the Nazis’ ideological concept of Übermenschen… What if they _do_ create an army of super-soldiers and they win the war. What will happen afterwards? There is little chance that the government will just send them home when the Nazis are defeated, is there? What if the government decides to use them… elsewhere? Maybe in another country, Russia, Japan, Korea, who is to stop the government from… The super-soldiers are supposed to protect, to fight for freedom, but they could just as easily be used to destroy, to conquer, to… no. No, he cannot think of this any longer. The US government will not do such a thing. It can’t.

And what if there is something wrong with one of the candidates? Something hidden, deep within, like a worm inside an apple. You can’t see it from the outside, but if you take a bite, suddenly there’s something strange on your tongue and it’s _wriggling_ … what if there’s something wrong with one of the candidates, something they won’t notice even with the myriad of tests they have planned, what if they don’t create a super-soldier, but something else? Something like Schmidt?

Something worse than Schmidt?

 

***

 

**Six months ago**

The little fairy won’t stay down. George kicks him and punches him in the face and in the stomach, throws his scrawny form clear across the alley so he bounces off a brick wall – and still the little fucker won’t stay down. Not only makes him the the guy him miss the pictures, but George almost feels insulted – the fairy’s barely half George’s size and he _keeps getting up_.

“Had enough yet?!” he growls and punches him again. The fairy falls on his ass, but yeah – stumbles back to his feet again. Figures. Fucker. The fairy even grins at him, licking blood from the corner of his mouth and tells him he could do this all day. Grins wide, teeth bared, glinting white through lips shining red with blood.

George snarls and punches him again and again, hot rage filling him so he can barely see. Why won’t the guy just fucking stay down?! George punches him when he wants, where he wants, as hard as he wants… but still the fucker is getting up again. Now the fairy even picks up a trash can lid like a shield. Who the fuck does he think he is? Some kind of knight in shining armor or something? George advances and rips the makeshift shield from the fairy’s hands.

He doesn’t even realize what the scrawny guy was hiding behind the lid until suddenly a fiery line is drawn across his throat.

George stumbles backwards. “What…?”

The fairy straightens and lifts the knife slowly, light reflecting off the blade. He smiles and George shudders.

“What?” he asks again as he falls to his knees. There’s a warm wetness soaking his shirt. “What?”

The other man’s outline seems to waver in George’s vision, seems to wobble and shimmer like moonlight on the waves of a deep, dark pool. He comes closer, slowly stalking towards where George sinks sideways to the ground. “Told you,” he murmurs and puts a hand on George’s head, stroking softly, a feather-light touch. “you should have shown some respect.”

The hand on his head grabs his hair tightly all of a sudden, jerking George’s head back, the knife glints bright in a high, mesmerizing arc towards George’s face.

Then there is only darkness.

 

***

 

**One year ago**

Abraham tips the bottle on its head and watches the last few drops splatter the floor. He snorts at himself, sitting here like a maudlin old man, raising one horror scenario after the other inside his own head. He should stop drinking, yes, there is only one bottle left. He should keep the last bottle for a special occasion.

He sighs and leans back on his bed. The alcohol has left him dizzy and tired, but he’s been exhausted before. Maudlin old man, the thinks again, but, well, he is old, or feels old, feels like the black days of his past are weighing him down as much as the bleak days of his future do. Who knows what the future brings? Not he.

Abraham pulls at the pillow until it rests more comfortably under his head and closes his eyes. He cannot go on worrying like this. It’s not good for him and not for the project either. He shall just have to wait and see what will happen. Wait and see and hope that it all ends well. Hope that it does not end in tragedy, like his mind whispers to him late at night.

He has promised to help, and he will do his best to make it work, to find the perfect, the best candidate to test it on – because the alternative is too grim to imagine. What is it that Einstein said? _I never think of the future. It comes soon enough._

If only it were that easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like posting this worked, I've written quite a bit more for this. I'm posting the next chapter now, more to come soon. I'm back to working at home, which means more time for writing, yay. I'm back in the field next week though - probably, at least, it's not quite sure yet when the next excavation will start, but I'll do my best to write a lot before that...
> 
> And: You've probably already noticed, but this is not a linear story. There'll continue to be bits that take place pre-movie and there'll continue to be lots of changes in the POV (probably, anyway, I'm still figuring it all out). I hope it still makes sense.

**Phillips**

Doc Erskine is complaining again, as if he ever does anything else lately, Phillips thinks. My formula, yaddayadda, my candidates, blahblah, I should be part of the selection progress, bah. No way. Sure, what the Doc did was important, he should be congratulated, after all he did invent the formula in the first place. Very important thing to do, that, paving the way for a new breed of soldier, sure.

But now that it’s finished, the Doc’s job is done, even if he can’t see that. Now it’s other men’s turn, Philipp’s turn, because who better to find the perfect candidate than a man who’s fucking trained to create the perfect soldier? Because that’s what Phillips does, takes the clay that is a normal man and molds it into something better. A soldier, a hero, a fucking force of nature. That’s what he’s been doing for a long, long time and this time it’s not really all that different. The Doc can’t see that, he argues, yells and curses but Phillips doesn’t give a damn. The Doc is too soft and too gentle, he can’t do what Phillips does. Which is look at a man and see what’s inside, what makes him tick, if there’s that certain spark in there that makes him… well. Everybody can be a soldier, almost everyone anyways, but some people have that spark that makes them great.

There are several candidates Phillips has picked so far, about three dozen. Some of them show great promise, others not so much. He’s gonna have to thin the herd before they ship them off for training. But all in all it seems like a promising group. Not a great one, maybe, but promising. There’s no man Phillips looks at and thinks ‘he’s perfect’, but they’ll see what happens in training. And there’s still some more stops for recruiting candidates before they leave, maybe he’ll find somebody else. What’s next on the list? Ah yes, the Stark Expo. The Doc will surely say he wants to go himself, like he always does, but Phillips will say no, like _he_ always does.

The Doc’s job is done, now it’s Phillips’ turn. And who knows? Maybe at Stark’s Expo they’ll find the perfect candidate.

 

***

 

**Steve**

Steve sighs. That really wasn’t what he was planning for today. _And_ he got blood on his sleeve, just… perfect. He stares down at the man on the dirty alley, mouth twisted in distaste. What a day. First once again denied at the recruiting office, then that annoyance at the pictures, and now he’s got blood on his sleeve. What a fucking day.

He’s lost interest in going back to the pictures, didn’t really want to go in the first place. Seemed like a good idea at first, a way to spend the evening, fill it with images and sounds, a way not to feel alone. Now there’s not much else to do, except go home and stare at the walls. Watch how the fading light wanders over the floor, listen to the sounds an empty apartment makes… and wait. Alone.

Because Bucky was drafted into the military. Soon he’ll be gone and Steve has to stay behind.

It’s not fair, he thinks for the millionth time. It’s not fair, it’s not right. The army sees only his frail body, they read about his heart and his lungs and all the other things and think ‘weak’. But he isn’t, he is not weak. They don’t see what’s inside him. They are the ones who are weak, if they don’t see. He’s smarter than most, he’s capable, and yes, he’s strong. There are more ways to be strong than just muscles. Steve knows what he wants and he won’t stop until he gets it, not matter what happens or what he’ll have to do. They don’t see that – their loss. Soldiers, ha. Obeying orders like good little boys, no thinking for themselves, cannon fodder. Not he, no. He’s better than that, he’s bigger than that. He’ll get what he wants. He always does.

This time, though, it’s difficult. This is not like the times where he sweet-talks grumpy vendors, so he gets fresh apples for free to bring home to Bucky. This is not like when charms elderly neighbors to fix a rip in his shirt before Bucky notices he’s been in a fight while the sigh and coo at him and say they don’t understand why he’s still not married, such a sweet boy.

This time it’s not a small thing he wants, not apples to make Bucky smile or real coffee to make him hum sweetly in the mornings. This time it’s something big he wants, and right now there doesn’t seem a way to get it. Because what he wants is this: he wants Bucky. He wants Bucky to stay with him, always. He wants Bucky not to leave, go to war, go to Germany where he’s probably going to get ki – no. No, that will not happen. It can’t. It must not, it can’t…

The mere thought of it makes pain surge behind his forehead like a dozen bolts of lightning. No. No, it won’t happen. Steve won’t let it. But how? How? Steve wracks his brain like he’s been doing so often during these last weeks. How to fix this? How?

 

***

 

**Bucky**

Bucky’s shoulders are slumped where he stands just outside the door of the building. He’s staring at the ground, but he doesn’t see it. In his left hand, crumpled at the edges, is the letter he’s gotten. The ink is slightly smudged, his hands had started to sweat when he’d opened it earlier, but it’s still perfectly legible. He’s been drafted.

Steve won’t like this.

It’s not like Bucky hadn’t seen it coming, really, what with the news from the front. He’s feared it for months now, but still, now that it’s happened, he’s… shocked. Shocked and terrified. He’s going to war. He’s going to have to _kill_ someone. He’s probably going to die. That it’ll be in service for his country, in the fight for freedom feels like a shallow comfort, but he focuses on that with all his might. It’s the only comfort he has, after all.

They’re gonna send him for training, they’re gonna put a weapon in his hand and teach him how to shoot people with it. They’re gonna take him away and… fuck, Steve really won’t like this. Bucky himself doesn’t, but for Steve it’ll be worse.

It’s not like he’s afraid to leave him, per se. Bucky’s used to being alone. Getting by on his own (but it will be different, won’t it, in the war? Oh how different it’ll be…), having to handle things alone, getting through life. He had to learn it, after the fire, after his family died. Had to grow up fast. Felt old many times, aged way beyond his years with the hardships he’s had to endure (he doesn’t feel old right now, he feels young. And scared). He’ll manage, somehow. His Mom, God rest her, used to say Bucky could end up in the hottest circles of hell and make himself a nice cozy place to live there. He’ll manage. And Steve? Steve may look weak, like the slightest breeze could topple him, like one wrong touch would break his skinny neck. But that’s not how he really is. There’s something inside him, something hard and strong, a steel core. Something fiery and wild, like a thunderstorm. A hidden abyss beneath the surface of a calm blue sea, dark and… dangerous.

Steve won’t break easily, he could manage very well on his own. He doesn’t depend on Bucky, does he? The mere thought is ridiculous. Bucky may be the tall one, the muscular one, the one all the girls flock to, but look at him now: he’s shuffling his feet, trying to find reasons not to go upstairs where Steve is, because he can’t think of a way to tell him what happened. He doesn’t want to tell Steve, because Steve won’t like it. Because Bucky’s scared of his reaction. And that, really, shows who’s the strong one between them, doesn’t it?

Yeah, Bucky’s scared of Steve’s reaction. It’s just… there have been times when something similar happened and Steve… didn’t take it well.

That time when Bucky was eleven and their teacher wanted to separate them in class because they spent the entire time talking. Steve made himself get an Asthma attack, passed out right there on the floor and sent the entire class, including their teacher, into hysterics. Then somehow managed to involve his parents and the principal, got the teacher fired for causing the near-death of a pupil and returned the next day to his seat next to Bucky with a big grin on his face, as if nothing ever happened.

That time when Bucky was eight and become friends with Sammy Martin from next door. When Steve told Sammy he’d eat his eyes when he spent any more time with Bucky. Bucky had laughed and thought he was joking, but Sammy obviously hadn’t. Afterwards Sammy ran real fast every time he saw them.

That time when he was sixteen and had his eye on this girl. Bucky still doesn’t know what Steve actually said to her, but she wouldn’t even look at him the next day.

That time when he was eighteen and came home, reeking of sex, sweet, sweet Nicole, and came through the door and… Bucky shivers at that thought

_what are you doing, Steve_

and shakes his head to clear it. It’s all pretty fuzzy, that memory

_what does it look like I’m doing_

like a blanket’s been thrown over it

_you’re mine_

like his brain somehow doesn’t want to remember it too clearly. It’s not the point, anyway. Or maybe it is, because: The army owns him now and Steve really won’t like that.

And he really, really should tell him. There’s no way to keep that from him. Bucky sighs again and opens the front door. The stairs up to their apartment loom before him, like steps to a gallow. Oh, come on, he thinks angrily and takes the first step, it won’t be that bad.

He hopes.

 

***

 

**Steve**

When he first heard, weeks ago, his first thought was to take Bucky and run, run far away, hide him somewhere safe so they won’t find him. Bucky said no, they couldn’t run, he didn’t want to be a criminal. Steve sneered at that, because who gives a damn if it will keep Bucky safe, but Bucky was adamant and added that he didn’t want Steve to become a criminal for him either. Which, really, was very sweet (and it’s already way too late for that, not that Steve’s ever told Bucky), but still. Steve got angry, so angry, angrier than he’d been for a long time. Bucky noticed, of course he did, shoulders curling in the lightning storm of Steve’s rage and accusations, but he didn’t back down. For the first time in who knows how long, he didn’t back down.

It’s happening, he said, you have to deal with it. I got drafted, I’m going to war, it’s happening. The army owns me now, it’s happening.

Oh, this only fuelled Steve’s anger: no. No, no, no. The army does not own Bucky. Bucky does not belong to the army. The army has no claim on him. Bucky is not theirs.

He’s Steve’s. And they will rue the day the dared to try and take him.

This is what brings him here. If the army wants to take Bucky away, Steve will follow. If Bucky goes to war, Steve will go right with him. Keep him safe, because who else will? Bucky is Steve’s, his to cherish and protect and… and have, so he’ll go with him. Join the army.

Which has proven a lot more difficult than anticipated. Because those morons of army recruiters can’t see beyond the frailty of his body and discover the strength that lies inside him, they only see the weakness of his muscles and ignore all the ways in which he’s better than them. They are the ones who are weak, they are the ones who… who try to keep him from Bucky. And they’re succeeding.

But Steve won’t give up. He never does. He has no qualms about falsifying his records, lying to the recruiters about where he’s from, he’s gotten quite the expert in it. And as long as there’s still an open recruitment office around, he’ll keep trying. Until he succeeds.

And if it really doesn’t work, there’s always hitting Bucky over the head and tying him up somewhere. Keep him hidden until the war is over. That idea is quite intriguing, but Bucky won’t like it. Still, it’s entirely practical. As a last resort, of course…

 

At that thought Steve smiles and steps over the body of the man on the ground, walking back towards the entrance of the back alley he’s in. He’ll go home after all, see if Bucky’s come back yet. Maybe spend a nice evening together.

… or maybe he’ll run into Bucky right now, just as he’s walked back out onto the main street. Steve looks him over critically. The uniform somehow doesn’t suit him, despite the fact that it fits him really well, tight in all the right places. Looks good, Bucky does, in that uniform, but Steve still doesn’t like it. This visible… claim the army thinks it has on Bucky. No, he really doesn’t like it.

“Jesus, Steve! Is that blood? Don’t tell me you got into another fight!”

Oh, right. “Don’t worry. Just got punched by this really tall fella who didn’t get that a lady means no if she says no,” he lies easily, “I kicked him between his legs and ran like hell.”

Good one, Steve. The bit with the lady is a nice touch, Bucky’ll like that, gentleman that he likes to be. It really wouldn’t do if Bucky went into the alley to investigate. This way, that guy will be just another crime statistic, just another robbery that went wrong…

“Hell, Stevie. Why can’t you pick on someone your own size?” Bucky sighs and shakes his head fondly.

Steve usually minds when people comment of his size, or lack thereof, but with Bucky it’s different. Bucky knows him. “What, like an eleven year-old?” he snarks and Bucky chuckles. Then he throws an arm around Steve and pulls him roughly along the street.

“C’mon. I’ve got tickets for the Expo, let’s see what Stark’s come up with this time. I hear there’s a flying car!”

Steve frowns and stops, forcing Bucky to come to a halt as well. Tickets for Stark Expo? Those are expensive. Way more money than Bucky could afford, really. So why…?

“What’s going on?” he demands, suddenly suspicious.

Bucky looks away and sighs. “I got my orders. The 107th. I ship out first thing tomorrow.”

No. No. This is not happening. Steve knows it would, he thought he did, but now… no. It can’t be. Not now! Not when he still hasn’t figured out how to… no.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky says, throwing several quick little looks, but never actually meeting his eyes for more than a millisecond, “don’t be mad. We knew this day would come, right? Can’t you just… can’t we just go see the flying car and not… please?”

Steve grits his teeth and tries to swallow his anger. It’s hard, it feels like there’s a red hot ball of lead in his throat, searing his insides. Melting his very core. His hands clench to fists and unclench again, clench and unclench. But Bucky is looking at him again, worried and hopeful and sad and Steve… well. He _always_ gives Bucky what he needs. And if this is what he needs right now, so be it.

“Okay,” he says, “okay. Let’s go see the flying car.”

He’s read there’s a recruitment office at the Expo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Thank you VERY much to everyone who kudos'ed and commented and bookmarked and... well, read! Yay! I love you all!  
> PPS: It seems like Phillips is indeed written with two Ls and one P? This seems weird to me, I'm used to the name Philipp. Anyway: if I missed one and wrote Philipps instead of Phillips, please point it out...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Flashback involving various off-screen deaths. I'm pretty sure many of you will have figured it out already, but for spoilery reasons I'm putting the details in the end notes...

Steve doesn’t look happy when Bucky tells them about the girls. In fact Steve doesn’t look happy _at all_ , eyebrows drawn together, mouth pressed into a tight line. Oh, crap.

Bucky hastens to explain: “I just thought it might be nice, you know? Just a nice evening, just some fun before… before tomorrow?”

Steve snorts. “Right. Fun.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and punches his friend’s arm. “Aw, c’mon, Stevie! Lighten up! ‘sides, you gotta practice, soon you’ll be the last eligible bachelor in New York City, you know?”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. “I dunno… what did you tell them about me?”

“Only the good stuff,” Bucky promises, “don’t worry. I just told them how nice you are and how you’re almost an artist and my best friend and c’mon, Stevie, please?”

His friend huffs a breath but doesn’t say anything, walking alongside Bucky in silence. He throws Steve a side-long glance – nope, he still doesn’t look pleased. Seriously, the guy’s gotta lighten up some. God knows how many times Bucky’s tried to fix him up, find him a nice girl, but Steve’s always… well, it never works out. Steve says something stupid and they leave, or he doesn’t say anything at all and they leave or… or they are way more interested in Bucky. Take one look at Steve and then look at Bucky and yeah, that’s that then. Which… at first Bucky felt flattered, if he’s being honest, because he thinks he’s sort of okay looking, but it’s nice to… get confirmation, you know? But feeling flattered wore off soon, nowadays he gets irritated when that happens, almost angry, because it’s really not fair. That they only see how Steve’s skinny and small and don’t even care about getting to know him. He doesn’t deserve that, still it happens all the time and Bucky hates it.

So he made sure to tell the girls all about him, how nice he is, his best friend, the best guy he knows. How he’s a real artist, not just doodling around, but drawing pictures so lifelike they should be in museums. How he’s always helping little old ladies carry their groceries, how he’s polite and sweet and a real gentleman. How he took care of his Ma when she got so sick, how he took care of Bucky when… when…

 

***

 

Bucky fights them, twists and shoves and throws his entire weight forwards, batters his fists against whoever he can reach, kicks and punches and pulls and fights with all his might. It’s useless, there are four, six, eight arms holding him back, grabbing his shoulders, his arms, wrapped around his chest, holding him, restraining him, keeping him from running onto the street and…

He’s seen fire before. He’s even seen a building burn before, a factory down by the river, burning bright until nothing remains but ash and rubble. He’s seen fire before, but never like this.

It doesn’t look like fire, it looks like a monster. A giant, blazing animal, fiery, blazing, roaring like thunder as tongues of flame start licking out the windows, over the walls, on the roof. A bright, horrible demon of red and gold devouring the building, swallowing it whole, surrounding it with an inferno so hot he can feel his eyelashes curl. An animal, a demon, a monster, burning down the house where he lives, destroying his home.

Killing his family.

Because they’re inside, they’re still inside. Mom and Dad and Becky, they are still inside.

Mrs Fowley from first floor is outside, a little ways up the street, clutching an ash-smeared pillow. The Millers from second floor are outside, Mr Miller sitting on the curb shaking like a leaf, Mrs Miller with both arms around her crying children. Old Man Tony from third floor is outside, gripping an umbrella, ignoring his wife trying to get him to go to the paramedics.

They are all outside, but Bucky’s family is not. He didn’t even notice at first, too occupied with watching the fire destroy the building where his home is. Saw the yellow shine on the sky from up the street and ran all the way here, to find his home in flames.

Fourth floor is the cheapest and they don’t have much money. It’s just two rooms, but they don’t need a lot of place. Kitchen and bedroom for his parents. Luckily Becky’s still little, her crib fits in the bedroom. They were thinking about moving soon, finding a bigger place, if Dad can get a few more shifts. Because Becky’s growing and in the kitchen there’s no room for another bed, there’s barely enough room for _Bucky’s_ bed. If he wants to get to it, he has to shove the table and the chairs against the wall first. He doesn’t mind, his bed is right below the window, at night he can see the stars over his head, like dozens of tiny diamonds.

In the bedroom is the bed Bucky’s Dad made as a wedding gift for his bride. He carved a little heart on the headboard, you can only see it if you look real close, it’s tiny. But it’s there, right over where Mom sleeps, so when she wakes up she can see it and remember that Dad loves her. Mom always smiles when Dad tells that story. In the kitchen there’s a small reddish-brown stain on the wall where Bucky took his first ever steps and fell right over, cracking his head and leaving a bloody smear. Dad keeps saying he needs to paint over it, but he never does. Mom likes to show it to guests and jokes how that’s the first clue she got that Bucky would always run head-first into trouble.

It’s not much, their apartment, it’s tiny, but it’s home. It’s where they put up pictures of Bucky when he was little, of Becky when she was newly-born, a black-and-white photograph of his parents’ wedding. It’s where Bucky learned how to read, where his sister started to crawl, where his Dad sometimes swings Mom around in a circle in the kitchen when he comes home, while she scolds him that he’s making him burn dinner and he laughs and laughs until she joins in. It’s where Bucky’s lived as long as he’s remembered, it’s home.

And now it’s burning to the ground.

Bucky’s staring at it with his mouth open, fascinated by the flames, how they seem to be dancing in front of the dark night sky. Around him many more people are staring at the fire, talking in high, excited voices:

“Did you see that window there? Just exploded! Boom!”

“That’s some fire, I tell you that! Huge!”

“The police say the firemen can’t put it out, you know, seems it’s too late for that. Can just make sure it doesn’t jump to the next building.”

“I sure hope not! That’s where I live!”

“Look at it burn! They can probably see that in Kansas!”

People laugh at that, Bucky flinches. It’s not funny, that’s his _home_.

“I heard not everybody got out…”

“Yes, I heard that too! The firemen was talking about it! They was saying the stairs were destroyed first! Couldn’t get to the fourth floor to get them!”

“Yeah, there’s a family living up there, just had a little baby. Such a shame…”

There’s fire roaring across the street and now there’s fire roaring inside Bucky’s head as well. Loudly, covering any other noise in the busy street. Screaming, harsh and violent, like Bucky is screaming now. Panicked, disbelieving, desperate. Howling with pain and anguish, but there are arms on him now, holding him back, keeping him from running over there, keeping him from his family. Ignoring his tears and pleas and his begging, his family, his family, Mom and Dad and Becky, grabbing him tight, he fights them, oh how he fights, but they never let go. Don’t let go, keep a hold of him, voices in his ear trying to calm him down, MomandDadandBecky, trying to reason with him, telling him he can’t go in there, he can’t. No, boy, it’s too late, it’s too late, they are dead.

They are dead.

The building burns and burns, fire devouring roof and walls, windows exploding in the heat, curtains fluttering for a second like waving fingers before they turn to ash. Bricks start falling, one at first, then a few more, then a corner of the roof crumbles. Rubble hits the ground, clouds of dust and ash rise to the sky, pieces of wood rain down to the street, each with a halo of burning red hair around it. His home burns, his family burns. And Bucky feels like he’s burning as well.

“Bucky! Bucky!”

The arms grabbing him disappear until only two remain. Skinny arms, familiar arms, wrapping tight around him.

“Bucky, it’s me, it’s Steve, oh Bucky…”

Steve. A familiar face pressed against him, a warm cheek at his, Steve’s voice in his ear. “Bucky, I’m here, I got you, I’m here…”

All his power seems to drain away in a second. Bucky stops fighting. There’s no point. There’s no point in fighting anymore… it’s too late.

Hours, centuries later the building finally crumbles. Firemen start to swarm around it, police try to keep the interested people back. Bucky doesn’t see, doesn’t hear. His mind is curiously blank, like an empty canvass, like a freshly dug grave. His eyes are closed now, closed and dry. The fire seems to still be burning on his eyelids, in his head, in his heart. It’s everywhere, all around him, inside him. Even Steve smells like fire. Gas and smoke.

Bucky cries.

 

***

 

He has to swallow hard at the memory. For a second it felt like the fire was back, flames licking at his skin. Bucky shudders a little, tries to shake it off. It’s been a long time ago, it shouldn’t still feel that… fresh. He didn’t mean to think about it anyway, he was thinking about what came afterwards. When Steve took him to his own home, put him in the shower and then into bed, curled around him and held him tight while Bucky lay there shaking. Didn’t try to get him to talk, was just there, with Bucky. Took care of him in the weeks after, made him eat and shower and dress, didn’t flinch back when Bucky yelled at him, yelled until he’d screamed himself hoarse. Held him at night when the dreams started, when he’d cried until he thought his heart might give out. Just was there, next to Bucky, always there, taking care of him. Hasn’t ever really stopped since then, trying to be everything Bucky needed. Until Steve became his family, the only family he has left now.

And that, that right there is Steve. That’s what people should focus on, the man Steve can be, a good man. Sure, Steve is skinny and small, doesn’t have muscles to speak of. Sure Steve gets angry sometimes, so angry, thunder and lightning in his eyes. Sure Steve is weirdly intense about some things, his art and his dislike of people talking down at him, his disapproval of Bucky’s girls, to name a few examples. Sure, all that. But Bucky likes to think he knows him, and Steve’s a good man. Around him he’s never been anything but.

So that’s what he’s told the girls, the good stuff. And the bad stuff? Bucky can’t seem to think of all that much bad stuff anyway.

 

Steve still doesn’t look convinced, he looks rather annoyed actually. Bucky whines a little, he’s not too proud to admit it, because they are almost at the entrance to the Expo, there’s not much time left to settle this. And this will be good for them both. A nice evening with two nice girls, what’s there to be annoyed about?

Steve sighs and frowns, looking down at his feet. “I just…”

Bucky turns and starts walking backwards to keep his eyes on his friend’s face. He bumps into an elderly woman because he can’t see where he’s going, she curses at him. Loudly. Bucky hastens to apologize, giving her a big smile. She looks startled for a second, then hesitantly smiles back.

Bucky grins at her for a second longer, then turns back to Steve. “Just what?”

Steve sighs again. “I just… I just thought we could spend the evening together. You know. Just you and me. It’s… you’ll be gone tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll… I mean, I don’t like the idea of…”

Bucky frowns and opens his mouth, but Steve interrupts him: “I just mean that if those girls are there, I won’t get to... You’ll be busy and I’ll be... I just want to spend this evening with my best friend, you know?”

Ah, damn. Steve knows Bucky can’t say no to him when he pulls out those big puppy dog eyes. Jesus. Bucky sighs heavily. “Stevie…”

Those eyes, impossibly, seem to get bigger. Fuck. “Okay, okay, okay. Damn, Steve, stop looking at me like that! Yeah, okay, you got it. Just the two of us. Fine, Jesus.”

Steve starts grinning, Bucky rolls his eyes but smiles back while he shows their tickets to the guy at the entrance. Little punk, playing him like that. And Bucky himself, the goddamn sucker, falling for it every time. He should be mad, but actually he’s quite happy. Feels kind of nice how Stevie wants to spend time with him that bad, just the two of them.

“But I gotta go tell them real quick, okay?” As expected, Steve’s face falls at that. “I do, seriously. I can’t just leave them standing there, waiting, right? Wouldn’t be nice.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah okay. But you’ll come back right after?”

“Right after,” Bucky promises, “won’t take long.”

Steve gives him a smile, a wide, open, happy one. “Okay, see you soon.”

Bucky salutes him, earning a huff of laughter and a fond eye roll, then walks off with a grin, shaking his head at himself. Look at him, about to tell two beautiful, sweet, nice girls he can’t take them dancing because he’d rather spend the evening with a guy. Giving up on flirting and kissing and, yeah, probably his last chance of having sex for a long, long time. All because of Steve’s big, blue eyes, ha.

But maybe Steve’s right. This is his last night before shipping off to war, he should be spending it with people he cares about. And well, that means Steve. So Bucky’s okay with it, really. It’s still gonna be a very nice evening.

Now, how to tell the girls…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, details: Flashback involving the fire which killed Bucky's family. Who all, obviously, die. It's not shown or really described in gory detail or anything like that, but they die. Plus Bucky's sister is still a baby.
> 
> ... I'm sorry for killing them? And I realise now I don't know how to make that sad emoticon with a tear in its eye, so erm, imagine me making a sad teary-eyed face at you right now...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for the long wait! RL has been kicking my ass, then I was slightly distracted by Matt Bomer, then RL got back to kicking my ass. I kicked back now, though, so here's the next bit! More to come soon, I promise!

**Steve**

It’s not the first time he’s tried to enlist, it’s not even the first time he’s lied on an enlistment form, Steve thinks as he’s sitting there on the bed and waits for the doctor to come back. He doesn’t care that it’s illegal, it’s a means to an end. It’s for Bucky, and as always, Steve will do anything to keep him close. If that means lying his ass off to get into the army, so be it. It’s not the first time he’s done it, no, but…

It’s the first time someone noticed.

Sure seems that way, what with the doctor suddenly disappearing and instead two MPs walking in, standing right next to the opening in the flimsy curtain. Steve keeps his face pleasant and calm, innocent, while inside he’s seething. Not now, not now. He can’t get arrested, especially not today –This just can’t be happening. Fury rolls in dark waves through his insides, at the world where he doesn’t fit in, at his parents who made him so small and sickly, at the fucking army for not letting him join and, oh, yes, also for figuring out he lied, bastards, and lastly at himself, because maybe he shouldn’t have tried that here, now, today. On Bucky’s last day before the war, when Bucky’s waiting for him, when they only have this evening, before… before…

Steve grits his teeth and curls a hand around the knife in his pocket. There’s a window right above his head, he’s small enough to fit through, if they try to take him, he’ll be ready. They won’t expect a fight from him, skinny little guy that he is, they won’t expect the knife and then he can jump on the bed and from there reach the window and –

Two men enter through the curtain. One is obviously a doctor, lab coat and glasses and scraggly beard. He looks pleasant, soft, non-threatening. Steve dismisses him with barely a thought- not important. The other, however, is a lot more interesting. A general, if Steve’s not mistaken, hard where the doctor is soft, back ram-rod straight where the doctor is slouching slightly, eyes like flint where the doctor is blinking at him near-sightedly. Oh yes, the second man is infinitely more dangerous. And a lot more interesting. Steve sits up, letting go of the knife. Let’s see how this goes, he thinks. Suddenly, this day seems a lot more promising.

Because, while the others may look at him and dismiss him as weak, this man, this general, doesn’t. Instead, he looks almost… excited. Interesting.

Steve freely admits to lying on various enlistment forms when General Phillips asks about it. Contrary to what one might think, this doesn’t seem to put Phillips off, no. Steve doesn’t miss the intrigued glint in Phillips’ eyes at that. The General asks him why he did it, Steve steels his chin and answers: “I want to join the army. Do my part.”

That last bit is added as an afterthought, since it’s not really why Steve is here after all, but it will sound good. Patriotic. Determined.

Phillips still hasn’t looked away from him for one second. Next to him, Doc Erskine fidgets and starts saying “General, I don’t think…” but Phillips shuts him up with a raised hand.

“Want to join the army, huh, son? Prepared to kill some Nazis?”

“Anything,” Steve interrupts him, meeting his eyes, “I’m prepared to do anything.”

Phillips’ eyes flash at that answer. “Good to hear.” He murmurs, sounding satisfied and very, very intrigued. “Very good to hear.”

The Doc tries protesting, but Phillips won’t have any of it. Five minutes later, Steve has joined the army.

 _Finally_.

 

***

 

**Bucky**

When Bucky gets back from setting the girls up with a couple of his buddies, to make up for leaving them all alone, he can’t find Steve anywhere. He cranes his head and looks around, searching the crowd for the familiar blond head, but to no avail. Damn it. Where _is_ he? Then he sees it: the army recruitment post and, well, his temper just boils over. God damn it, Steve!

He more or less stomps over there, prepared to give his best friend a piece of his mind, because fuck, they’ve talked about this, haven’t they? Steve has got to stop with that shit, it can’t go on like that. Bad enough that Bucky himself has to go fight in that war, if Steve went as well? Bucky doesn’t know what he’d do. Steve has to stay here, damn it, he has to stay safe, Bucky _needs_ him to stay safe. Steve’s all he’s got left, he’s –

There he is, the skinny idiot, looking at the recruitment tent with a slightly dazed and… satisfied? expression. “Steve!” Bucky yells, “Steve, you moron! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Steve jumps about a mile and turns around, hastily shoving something into his pocket. Bucky’s eyes narrow, he idiot probably already filled out the enlistment form and thought he could go in before Bucky gets here. Fat chance, Stevie, you little _shit_!

Bucky stops in front of his friends, arms crossed, and glowers down at him. “I repeat: what do you think you’re doing?!”

“Nothing!” Steve looks at him from wide, innocent eyes. “I swear, Bucky, nothing!”

Yeah, _right_! “You were about to do something stupid, weren’t you?!”

Steve smiles at him and makes a quip about Bucky taking all the stupid with him, Bucky is not amused. “I’m serious, Steve, what the hell? Don’t try and tell me you were just admiring the colors of that poster! You wanna go try and enlist again!”

His friend’s eyes widen. “No, I don’t! I swear!”

Bucky glares at him. “Don’t lie to me!”

Steve shakes his head. “I wasn’t, I swear!” When he sees that Bucky is less than convinced, he steps closer and puts both hands on Bucky’s crossed arms, peering up at him with wide blue eyes. “I swear, I’m not lying, Buck. I swear, I will not go in there and try to enlist, okay? I swear.”

Bucky scowls and tries to hold onto his anger. It’s hard, with Steve looking at him so earnestly. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know.” He growls and Steve nods quickly.

“I know, Bucky. I’m not lying, see?”

He stares at his friend for a while longer, but, well. Seems like Steve really is telling the truth, after all. Finally Bucky sighs and ruffles Steve’s hair, earning himself an outraged squawk and a shove, which is exactly why he does it. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. I was… worried.”

Steve smiles at him, all sweet. “I know. It’s okay. Wanna go see the flying car now?”

Bucky’s ‘hell yes’ makes Steve laugh and they walk towards the giant stage next to each other, companionably shoving each other and trying to trip the other. Bucky’s smiling, because this is shaping up to be a very nice evening. There’s flying cars and popcorn and music, Stevie’s at his side and he’s safe and all’s good. Tomorrow he’ll go to war, but tonight, all’s good in Bucky’s world.

 

***


	5. Chapter 5

**Steve**

The training camp is in some ways the hardest and in some ways the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Hard is the physical training, obviously, running through mud and crawling through mud and fucking sleeping in mud. Lifting weights, running laps, trying to get through nightmarish obstacle courses, running, and then running some more. Some days, Steve feels like he might fall over and die if he has to take one single step further, some days he thinks his spine might crack under the weight of his pack. Some days, all the scratches and bruises littering his pale body feel like they will crack open at the slightest pressure, spilling his blood over the floor and washing his very essence away like a red wave. Some days, all he feels is pain.

He soldiers on, though, takes the next step anyway, lifts his pack higher, ignores the bruises. Because, unlike the other morons they put in here with him, he actually has a goal in all of this besides fighting for his country. His goal is not nearly as abstract, his determination is not nearly as… instilled, by parents or society. His goal is simple, clear, shines bright through all that fucking mud and rain. Bucky. Every step he takes is a step closer to Bucky, so he takes it. Simple as that.

So yeah, it’s hard, but not impossible. It helps a lot that, aside from the physical training, the rest is basically a walk in the park. And what makes it so easy are the people. Steve’s always been good with people, in his own special way. People are easy, people can be manipulated, people can be made to side with Steve and think it’s been their own idea all along.

The first one is one Margaret “Peggy” Carter. It’s so easy it’s almost laughable. She’s pretty but tries to play it down. She’s smart but tries to hide it. She’s strong-willed, sure, but she’s also a woman trying to cement her place in a man’s world. Which means she’s used to men dismissing her, thinking her weak and frail and soft or, worse, making a pass at her. A few soft-voiced comments from Steve, carefully not making it seem like he’s looking down at her (not that that’s hard, she’s a head taller than he is), showing nothing but the utmost respect for her. A couple of scenes where he impresses her with his quick thinking (and honestly, how is it that he’s the only one who saw how to bring that flag down, is he surrounded by morons or just complete and utter idiots?) and bravery (it’s still funny how everybody scampered away from that dummy grenade). A few times where it’s absolutely clear that Steve has no idea how to talk to a woman (also not hard to fake, he’s never been interested in that anyway). Being sweet and innocent and blushy and respectful and generally non-threatening and she’s putty in his hands. Easy, really.

Erskine is a little harder. At first, anyway. Steve doesn’t know why, the Doc just doesn’t… seem too fond of him. Seems to look at him with something almost like… suspicion, like he knows that “serving his country” might not be the exact reason why Steve’s here. Almost like he can see Steve, really see him. Which is… not entirely comfortable, Steve will admit that, and definitely something he needs to change. But even the Doc has a weak point, where Steve can dig his nails in. Homesickness, that’s what cinches it for the Doc. So Steve makes sure to listen to him wallow about Augsburg and share his godawful wine and intersperses their conversation with tidbits about how he’s not here to killGermans, he just wants to _free Germany_. Which works like a charm.

Phillips, well. Phillips has been on Steve’s side from the moment they first met. Doesn’t matter that Phillips has no idea just whose side he’s chosing, if he just keeps on doing what he’s doing. Which is taking Steve just that little bit further towards the goal here, to Bucky.

To the serum.

Ah, the serum. Steve has high hopes for that one. Being taller and faster and stronger than now? Than everybody else? Yes, _please_. A super soldier. It sounds quite nice. It also sounds… right. Like exactly what Steve was always meant to be: Better. Not just that, better than _everybody else_.

It’s not like there’s any serious obstacle standing between Steve and the serum, not anymore. Peggy is voting for him, Phillips is voting for him. Erskine sometimes looks at Steve like he’s trying to figure something out, but he’s voting for Steve as well. The other recruits that have been here with him are long gone, brainless, moronic wastes of space they were. Steve is smarter, which became apparent very quickly. He might be smaller and weaker, but, if Phillips is right, that won’t be an issue for much longer. As Phillips told him: he’s still skinny, but not for long.

One after the other, the rest of the recruits have disappeared, washed out because they didn’t make the cut, too little fight in them, too little determination. Too weak (which is ironic, seeing as Steve stayed here and well, these guys could probably bench-press him on any given day), too stupid. With one or two of them, Steve had to… help. Just a little. Convince Rollins to start a fight in their quarters one day, a fight in which Peggy almost got her nose broken and goodbye, Rollins. Hide Phillips’ wallet in that other moron’s bag (Steve can still remember the foot kicking out at the support structure, and the barbed wire digging into his bag, oh, revenge is sweet), making him not only get thrown out of the unit, but also in jail for stealing. From a general. Revenge is _very_ sweet.

At last, Steve’s the only candidate left. Tonight he drinks bad wine with Doc Erskine, later very good Scotch with General Phillips. And tomorrow… tomorrow Steve will become what he was meant to be. Tomorrow he’ll take another step towards Bucky, maybe the most important step.

Bucky, oh Bucky. My Bucky. I’m coming for you. Just you wait. I’m coming.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muhaha. MuhaHAhahahaha. Muhaha.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you to [zilldk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zilldk), who I actually did not let beta this chapter (because I'm mean), but who had ideas about a scene I was struggling with. Thank you!!

**Now**

It hurts, it hurts like nothing Steve has ever felt before, pain searing through his body, agony coursing through his entire being. He can _feel_ his bones break when his limbs extend, he can _feel_ the flesh tearing as he grows.

Bones and flesh knit back together and even that hurts, excruciating pain all over, filling him up, swallowing him whole until he thinks he can no longer take it.

Outside the contraption they put him in people are shouting, yelling about making it stop.

No. He can do this.

Steve grits his aching teeth, forces his bleeding tongue to form words and tells them to continue. Fights the pain, wrestles against it, faces the agony, resists with all his might and clings to a single thought: _this is who I am meant to be_.

And then… the pain stops. It’s over.

The door of the coffin-like machine hiss open. Nobody speaks for long seconds. Steve pants for breath, eyes closed. The pain is receeding as if it was never there and he feels… Good. Strong. _Powerful_.

Steve opens his eyes and smiles.

 

**Now**

Abraham breathes, slow and deep. He should feel relieved, shouldn’t he? It is over now. His research, all his work, all the pain and fear and sleepless nights full of worry. It is what he has dreamt about for months, years. His formula, his… creation. The Super Soldier. But… But. It is not relief he feels when he looks at Steve Rogers, his creation, it is not.

Abraham remembers how he at first was against Rogers joining the program, getting overruled by Phillips. He had thought it odd that this man, so obviously unsuited for the military, was so adamant to join the army. Not just physically unsuited, but… had he not lied on his enlistment forms multiple times? Phillips apparently admired that dedication, but Abraham himself felt… uneasy. And while he admits to being somewhat pleased that none of the other candidates, these brainless _thugs_ , made it this far, Rogers is…

There is just something about him. A certain glint in his eyes, perhaps? The way he seems almost too nice to be real? How he is with other people, friendly with everybody and utterly likeable, but… too slippery to really get close to? There is something about Rogers that makes Abraham feel ill at ease, he cannot explain it. And now? After the procedure? Abraham looks at Rogers and feels a shiver of cold down his spine.

Rogers is smiling as he shakes the General’s hand. He’s smiling, yes. It is a smile that makes Abraham think of teeth, snapping and biting. Of quicksand, of hidden reefs. It hides something, this smile, sweet and happy on the surface and something much darker behind it. Something dangerous.

Rogers lifts his head and looks at Abraham across the room. His eyes, oh, his eyes. Like the eyes of a snake, of a predator, trapping the gaze of its prey while it prepares to strike. Rogers looks at Abraham and _something_ glints in those eyes – in this moment, _Abraham_ _realizes it_.

Those eyes widen, just slightly. Rogers knows as well.

Abraham shoves through the crowd, trying to get closer. Mein Gott, Ms. Carter is right there, standing there with her neck so fragile next to the monster Abraham has created. He pushes people out of the way, familiar faces glaring at him, he has to get there, he has to stop this, he has to –

A face stands out in the crowd. A face he has not seen in years but which still haunts his nightmares. Kruger.

At first he thinks it is the shockwave from the explosion that rocks his body. Then he looks down and sees red spread on his lab coat. He doesn’t feel it, he feels no pain. Not when he hits the ground, not when Rogers cradles his body, pressing hard against his wounds.

He blinks up at Rogers, staring into those predator eyes. They glint at him, dark and delighted, the hint of a pleased smirk around the other man’s mouth. Rogers leans in close and puts his mouth to Abraham’s ear. “Sorry, Doc,” he whispers and presses his thumb against one of the bullet wounds, making the blood seep out so much faster, “this was not how I imagined things ending between us. But I don’t mind, really. You know I couldn’t let you try and stop me, don’t you?”

Abraham feels coldness spreading through his body at these words. Yes, he knows. He knows he has made a horrible mistake. He also knows he will not be around to fix it.

The world turns dark.

 

**Now**

Steve races behind the car, reveling in his new powers. He’s fast and strong, he’s powerful. It feels good, it feels _right_. This is who I am, he thinks, a wild grin on his face. This is who I really am.

The others scuttled around like ants in that lab, nothing but confusion and chaos after the explosion and Erskine’s death. Utterly helpless, weak, not a clue about what to do. Steve had taken off without a single glance back, running after the shooter, no pain in his chest, breath going quickly and without the hint of an asthmatic wheeze. He clears a fence with a single jump and almost laughs at how _easy_ it is. A super soldier. That’s what he is. Superior to everybody else.

Steve doesn’t care that Erskine is dead. There was something in the other man’s expression at the end, like he’d seen that which Steve thought well-hidden… something nobody was allowed to see. He had been trying to come up with a way to shut the Doc up before he started saying anything – it’s not like Steve could have killed him in a room full of people. His death was… a nice coincidence. Which still doesn’t mean he’ll let Erskine’s killer escape. After all, it’s the _right thing_ to do.

Time to be the hero they want him to be.

 

***

 

It’s really rather simple. Steve doesn’t even have to kill the guy himself, he swallows some sort of poison when Steve gets to him. Steve stands there, staring down at the twitching body. Hydra. That’s the organization Erskine was rambling about, isn’t it? The ones who were trying to create their own super soldiers? They must have tried to send this guy to get the formula…

Steve bends down to pick up the vial and looks at it. This is what turned him into this, stripped away his weak outer shell and released the superior being inside. The super soldier formula. How much of it was needed to make Steve who he is now? How much would be needed to create another one like him? This vial… is it enough? Maybe even sufficient for more than one person?

The vial seems to drop in slow motion when Steve opens his hands. The glass breaks with a tinkling sound and the formula seeps onto the ground, trickling into the cracks in the pavement.

Steve smiles.

 

***

 

When he gets back Steve tells them the vial broke in the fight. Nobody doubts it for even a second.

Phillips wants to make him stay in a lab. Brand is ridiculously easy to convince that Steve should be sent to war instead – he even thinks it’s his own idea. Wouldn’t it be a waste, trapping Steve in a lab, when he could do so much _good_ out there for his country? For the voters? And for another reason, one that Steve actually finds true: Hydra need to be stopped, especially if they’re trying to create their own super soldiers. There will never be _anyone_ like him.

Phillips tries to argue but Brand tells him to shut up. Ridiculously easy, really.

Steve carefully hides his smile and joins the sad conversations about the Doc, such a good man, so _nice_. It grates on his nerves but he does it anyway; people expect it. And it’s true, Erskine _was_ a good man. Without him Steve wouldn’t be where is – really, he should have thanked the guy. Ah, hindsight and all that…

Peggy wanders close and tells him she’s sorry for his loss, as if Steve’s Dad died. He tells her thanks, carefully making sure that his smile is just a little sad. It gives him a thrill to see how she now has to look up at him. Will Bucky have to look up, too? Will he have to crane his head now to look into Steve’s eyes? He always felt so small next to Bucky… now, will it be the other way round? He can’t wait to find out.

Oh yes, he can see it now: the way Bucky’s mouth falls open when he sees the new Steve. How he’ll look up with wide eyes, surprised and shocked and in awe at what Steve has become. How small he’ll seem, almost weak, fragile next to the power that is Steve. How he’ll flinch, maybe, when Steve touches him, so unused to dealing with that strength. Maybe he’ll fight the embrace? Bucky is strong, Steve knows it, but now… Steve is stronger. He’ll show him, he’ll show him and oh, it will be so sweet.

Steve can’t wait.

 

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shortish chapter, but we're getting closerrrr to the, erm, reunion... Enjoy!!  
> Additionally, not that you're not already aware of this: this is Dark!Steve in here, people. Warning for bloodthirsty, murderous thoughts. You have been warned.  
> Also the ratings and warnings on this will most probably change the further we go with this story. Since, you know, Steve is daaaaark. And only getting darker and more fucked up after the serum... ;)

The journey to Europe (to Bucky) is long and so utterly boring, so dull. Steve bears it, of course, the exhaustion of travel, the sleepless night when the noise of the ship or the train or the plane keeps him from resting. He doesn’t mind it, really, not when his dreams change the farther he travels into Europe (towards Bucky). At first they were filled with Bucky, his eyes and his hands, his skin and his mouth, nothing but Bucky Bucky Bucky filling Steve’s dreams. But now, the further he gets the more they change. In his dreams Steve now walks through dark forests that are eerily quiet, travels through empty rooms, stands in the middle of a desert alone. What if Steve is too late? What if something has happened? What if Bucky was taken from him – what if he’s already gone?

 _No_.

Bucky is fine, he’s okay, he’s waiting for Steve. He has to be. There is no way they could take Bucky from him – no way. Steve refuses to think otherwise, clamps down on his fears, ignores the burning ache of not knowing deep in his core. He doesn’t sleep, is glad the noise keeps him from dreaming. Bucky is fine, he is waiting, and every day brings Steve closer to him.

It was easy to get himself assigned to the same division Bucky belongs to – the 107th. Brandt, Phillips, the others – they don’t stand a chance against Steve. Not when he has Bucky to fight for. They are clay, soft and malleable, show no resistance when Steve shapes their opinions and thoughts however he wants. It’s laughable really, how soft they are. How proud they are of their ideas when Steve was the one who whispered the thoughts in their ears first, planted the seed of an idea he wants them to have. Isn’t it beautiful? They give him what he wants, even make him a Captain, and the whole time they think it was their own idea.

They don’t do it for free though, oh no, they want something in return. Steve doesn’t fault them for that, it’s natural, they are human. He doesn’t mind. Phillips is easy, he just wants a soldier – no, the _perfect_ soldier – at his disposal, obeying his orders, doing all that he can to make the General look good. Steve smiles at that – vanity is one of the easiest ways to manipulate someone. Steve doesn’t mind following Phillips’ orders… if they suit his own goals. If they do not, well… Steve doesn’t mind that either. He’ll do what he wants anyway.

What he does mind is how Brandt makes him repay his favors. The title of ‘Captain’ does have a very nice ring to it, ‘Captain America’ even more so. But that garish costume they want him to wear for the photoshoots, well. Suffice it to say Steve would rather be naked. Then again, it’s not like it’s a hardship, posing for recruitment posters, inspiring news articles or up-lifting videos. It’s even nice, in a way, getting all this attention, all these people scuttling around Steve like mice, gushing at him in admiration. No, it’s not a hardship at all, but it takes time and that is what Steve hates about it. Bucky is waiting for him after all.

When he finally reaches the base camp where Bucky is stationed, Steve is exhausted despite his new strength. Fuck Brandt and his idiotic publicity campaign, fuck all the girls they keep throwing at him, fuck the photographers and the make-up people, fuck them all. It ends here, now, Steve is done. Brandt got him where Steve needed to go, they are even. No more photo shoots, no more posing for the camera, no more stupid, simpering smiles, Steve is done. He’s here, finally, _finally_ : Bucky is close.

Steve prowls the camp, searching. With every dark-haired soldier he sees his heart gives a violent lurch, then angry disappointment flashes through him whenever he sees their actual face. Not Bucky, no Bucky, nowhere. Steve looks and looks, makes his way through tent after tent, searching. He can’t find him, not anywhere, Bucky isn’t there…

Peggy meets him when he stands there, staring at a small group of wounded soldiers, clenching his fists so he won’t go over there and beat them until someone tells him where Bucky is. Steve ignores the woman at first, too busy trying to control his rage. Bucky’s not here, he can’t find him, where is he?! Steve can’t just start hurting people to find out where he is, they would take him down or lock him up, no. But he wants to, oh how much he wants to just take them and tear them to pieces for keeping Bucky from him. He can’t do it of course, even if he can nearly taste their blood on his tongue, he can’t. Oh how much he wants it, though, because _Bucky isn’t here_.

Peggy simpers at him, dainty fingers coyly stroking his arm, joking about secret missions and about how she’s not supposed to be here at all. Steve ignores her – she’s little more than a bug to him right now, an annoying fly buzzing in his ears. He thinks about swatting her away like you do with flies, but what she says next, nodding towards the wounded soldiers, makes him listen:

“Schmitt sent out a force to Azzano. 200 men went up against him. Less than 50 returned, the others were killed or captured. You’re looking at what’s left of the 107th.”

Cold trickles down Steve’s spine, numbing his body. The 107th. Bucky.

Bucky, no, please. Please, no.

 

***

 

General Phillips forbids him to go. Steve briefly imagines crushing his throat, watching his eyes bug out in shock and horror while Steve squeezes the life from his body. It doesn’t matter though, Phillips doesn’t matter. His orders don’t matter either, because Peggy is so very helpful and eager to please…

Sneaking onto Stark’s plane is easy. Steve is glad it’s so simple, right now he has no mind for anything but the black knot of fury inside his chest. Bucky, I’m coming, he thinks and Peggy shies away from his smile.

If Bucky has been captured, Steve will rip apart everyone who dares stand between them. He will tear them to pieces and dance in their blood. He will paint Bucky’s skin with it, decorate him with ruby-red colors, Steve’s calligraphy, his signature.

And if Bucky is dead… Steve will burn down the world.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe... I do love cliffhangers... :P


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait - here is the next bit. Hope you enjoy...  
> A warning: I got a little... experimental with my writing style for the first half of this chapter. It may seem a bit weird, but I hope it works anyway. :D  
> Another warning: there will be a cliffhanger. Because I'm mean and like making people suffer. *shrugs* But you knew that already. Feel free to hate me... :P  
> Additionally: thank you to you-know-who for doing you-know-what. And also for all the dirty porn. ;)

**Steve**

Days later Steve can’t remember all of what happened during Bucky’s rescue, even if he thinks back and tries to. There seems to be a veil draped over his memories, muffling some of them until they are barely more than half-dreamt ideas. His head is a theater, audience room dark and silent, everything hidden but what happens on stage. Ignoring the machinery and ropes and stagehands but spotlights on what’s important.

_(the shocked faces of Hydra soldiers in the back of a truck)_

This is where they took Bucky.

_(a man, crumbling against a wall, head lolling on his broken neck)_

Bucky is here. He must be.

_(blood on his knuckles)_

Prisoners, staring at him in wide-eyed surprise. None of them familiar. _No_. Bucky, no.

_(punching a Hydra guard so hard his chest caves in)_

A flicker of hope when they tell him about prisoners sometimes getting taken somewhere else, a different room in this compound. He clings to that hope.

_(ripping the cage door from its hinges, the prisoners might make a nice distraction for the rest of the Hydra soldiers)_

Dark, empty corridors. Screams in the distance, gunfire. Hope glowing inside him, a warm ember in his chest.

_(A tiny mouse of a man, scuttling away from his presence like vermin hiding in a hole)_

And then, and then… a voice. Name, rank and number. _Bucky_.

 

***

 

Bucky, tied to a table (no)

Bucky, dazed and in pain (he will kill them)

Bucky, bruised and bloody (how _dare_ they)

Bucky, looking at him, smiling (alive)

Bucky, finally safe (safe)

 

***

 

**Bucky**

Fire rages below them where they stand at the metal bridge and fire rages in Steve’s eyes. Across from them a man peels his own face off like the lid of Pandora’s Box, uncovering something that will haunt Bucky’s nightmares forever. Behind that man stands another man (another nightmare), clutching the railing, looking like a scared mouse now and not like the devil he is, eager and greedy when Bucky moans, licking his lips when Bucky screams, sharp silver pain when the needles pierce his skin, cold fire in his veins when they inject him, leather straps digging sharply into his chest when he tries to get away from the pain the pain the pain _the pain_ –

Steve is a warm comfort at his elbow, big and strong and there. I thought you were smaller, Steve. I thought you were safe. Why did you come here? Why did you take the serum? How much did it hurt? How are you _here_? I thought…

I thought I was dead, too (the _pain_ ). I forgot who I was until you got here. I remembered my name, but it wasn’t _mine_. I’m glad you’re here, Steve. You can remind me.

Fire rages below them and fire rages in Steve’s eyes. At the men across from them, Steve’s body vibrating with the need to… do what? Blood on Steve’s hands, blood on his face. Steve wants to kill them, the man with the red skull and the other (nightmare) man. Did the serum make you a killer, Steve? I didn’t want that for you…

Bucky shudders hard. Bites his lips bloody so he doesn’t tell Steve to do it. Kill them, Steve, kill them for me. No. He doesn’t want that for Steve. Not even now. Not even for Bucky.

The bridge disappears, the men get away. Fire rages (he remembers another fire, back then), they make it out anyway. Bucky is hurt and in pain (needles piercing his skin), Steve doesn’t look like Steve anymore, but Bucky doesn’t care.

Steve is here, but he’s safe. And Bucky is safe, that’s all that matters.

 

**Steve**

His mind is a theater:

_Act One_

They retreat into the forest where the other freed soldiers are waiting. Clutching the weapons they appropriated and sticking together bleating like sheep. Afraid of the dark, of Hydra coming after them like wolves in the night – wolves eat sheep and that’s what they are, _sheep_ , this sorry group of scared men. Soldiers, aren’t they? Shouldn’t they be more… well, just _more_? Only a handful of them seems like they could be of any use to Steve right now, the rest he dismisses with barely a glance. The big fella with the bowler hat for example who stands guard, chewing on an unlit cigar. He instantly proves his usefulness when he asks Steve how they’ll get back to Phillip’s camp. Calls him Captain, even, and doesn’t that sound nice in his ears? Yes, he can use that man and a handful of others. It’s a long way back to the camp and his radio is fucked, so they’ll have to walk. Steve and Bucky and a few sheepdogs to protect the herd of petrified soldiers. Safety in numbers. Bucky has already been taken once when Steve wasn’t… _enough_ to protect him. There’s no harm in letting others help, be a shield against danger so Bucky stays safe.

Bucky…

Bucky who throws him glances while they walk through the dark forest, mouth twisted in curiosity, eyes travelling Steve’s new body. Bucky who lets Steve hold his hand with only a hint of surprise, lets Steve help him over roots and tangles of weed without barely any protest. Who smiles at him and tells him he’s glad Steve is here. Who lets him curl up around him at night, not resisting Steve clamping his arms tightly around his warm, breathing (living) body. Who buries his face in Steve’s throat and hides his tears in Steve’s skin. Who doesn’t tell him what they did to him, but Steve knows, he knows…

Bucky. Alive, in his arms. Where he belongs.

 

_Act Two_

Steve leads them on silent paths through forests and rolling hills towards their camp. They get far enough away from the Hydra base the soldiers start feeling safe. Wounds get treated, food gets… acquired, water is found. Steve’s herd gets carefully optimistic.

Laughter rings out sometimes when they make camp at night, banter flying back and forth. Bucky joins in with jokes and teasing comments, the others tease back and smile at him. It’s obvious they like Bucky, how can they not, he’s _Bucky_ , but Steve wants to tear them to shreds. They make Bucky laugh – Steve wants to rip out their eyes for looking, their tongues for talking. He wants to bite the hand ruffling Bucky’s hair, he wants to cut off that arm wrapped companionably around Bucky’s shoulder. He wants… He wants Bucky. Steve almost lost him and now that he’s back… Steve wants.

He wants to kill Hydra. They took Bucky away from him. Steve will kill them all, wipe out _all_ of Hydra, smash their bones to dust and dance on their graves. He won’t rest until Schmitt and Zola and every single member of Hydra is dead. How _dare_ they take Bucky, how _dare_ they take him from Steve.

And he wants to kill the men surrounding them now. He doesn’t, of course, he’s Captain America, a fucking hero. Wouldn’t be good for his image. No, they’ll stay alive, Steve will let them. They worship him, after all. Look up to him, listen to his orders, eager to follow and obey. His little sheep. No, they won’t die. But if they don’t stop touching Bucky, he’ll make them pay.

Bucky is golden sun and a warm hearth, he’s blood thrumming sweetly through Steve’s veins. He’s the heartbeat in Steve’s chest, he’s the fingers of Steve’s right hand. He’s as much a part of Steve as his own skin. He belongs to Steve, not those soldiers. He’s nobody else’s. He’s Steve’s.

Steve tells him: You’re mine. Bucky laughs, shakes his head. Oh Steve.

Bucky doesn’t believe him. He will.

 

_Act Three_

Steve proves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you hehehehe


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I repeat my earlier warnings: Steve is seriously fucked up in this story. He's a sick bastard. He is sliding even deeper into darkness. And so am I, apparently.  
> And... another warning for NON-CON, which might be unnecessary since I'll be changing the warnings and tags upstairs, but yeah... Well, I think most of you have already figured out where this is going, it has been... kind of building up to this for a while now. Still, just in case: NON-CON WARNING. Not explicitly described in this chapter, but still. Steve will rape Bucky. Don't read if you don't like it. You have been warned. Also my brain is a scary place.

**Bucky**

It’s been getting easier, these past days. Memories of… what they did to him get drowned out by laughter and gentle hands on him, not buried or forgotten, but… easier to deal with. Bucky will never forget what happened, what they did to him, but here, surrounded by friends and Steve hovering at his elbow like a giant (fuck, he’s so big now!) mother-hen, those memories lose their sharp edges, no longer cutting his mind to shards made of tinkling, screaming glass. And Bucky can do something now, doesn’t have to just lie there and take it, trying to escape into his own mind to get away from the pain. They need food and water, someone to stand guard at night. Bucky can do all these things and do them well, and he can help the others lose their grim expressions. Makes them smile and laugh and feels… almost peaceful when their laughter wraps around him like a warm, protective embrace. It feels good, being here like this, even when they are still far from safety. It feels normal and like he’s Bucky again.

Steve, however… he’s different. It’s not only the size and sudden strength in a body that used to be so small and frail. It’s disconcerting, seeing him like that, Bucky’s mind still can’t quite accept it. Sometimes he turns around to look at Steve and doesn’t recognize him at first – he keeps expecting to see “old Steve”, not that… giant _stranger_.

But Steve is still Steve, hovering around him, making sure Bucky eats enough and sleeps enough and wraps his arms around him at night, keeping him safe. He’s constantly touching Bucky, more than he ever did, an arm around his shoulders when they sit down to take a break, fingers on Bucky’s neck when he asks if Bucky wants more food. It’s nice, warm and gentle, Steve constantly touching him like that. Like he can’t keep himself from doing it, wants to make sure Bucky is alright. It’s… it helps, with the cold. And the memories. Not that Bucky doesn’t sometimes get annoyed with it, he’s not some frail little thing that will break as soon as Steve stops taking care of him or whatever. He’s not, he’s strong. He can do this. Even if Steve apparently thinks he can’t let him out of his sight for even a minute, Bucky is fine. Well, maybe not fine, but getting there. So yeah, sometimes it gets annoying, how close Steve is all the time, like when they sit down around a tiny fire (just enough to keep them warm and prepare food that isn’t just cold, stale bread and a couple of roots) and Steve all but shoves himself between Bucky and whoever he’s sitting next to. Yeah, that’s kind of annoying, but well, it’s Steve. Even before, when his friend was still a tiny little stick figure, Bucky had a hard time making him do anything or stop him from doing something he wanted to do. And with this new, strong Steve? Yeah, it would probably be even harder.

Especially since… there is something strange about Steve’s eyes sometimes. Like burning coals deep inside those blue orbs, making them shine with an unfamiliar light when he looks at Bucky. It’s… strange, seeing those eyes. Sends shivers up Bucky’s spine, makes the little hairs at the back of his neck stand up. Makes him think of

_(what are you doing, Steve)_

something he doesn’t want to remember. Steve’s eyes are strange sometimes when he looks at Bucky and he wonders just what Steve meant when he talked about the serum – or rather, what he _left out_ when he talked about it. It only hurt a little, he’d said. That’s _definitely_ an under-statement. What else happened back there? What did they do to Steve? Did they… Bucky feels brittle sometimes, these days, after what they did to him in that compound. Like he might break if someone squeezes him too tightly, a porcelain doll, afraid to be crushed. He works hard to keep the others from seeing it, but sometimes he… doesn’t feel like _himself_ anymore. Is it the same with Steve? Did they… change more than just his outside?

Steve brings him bread and an apple he discovered somewhere. Bucky takes it and delights in the taste – a sweet burst of flavor on his tongue, an explosion of summer in his mouth. Steve gives him a sweet smile when he sees Bucky enjoying the apple, tells him he’s glad Bucky likes it. He’s found it for him, he says, because Bucky needs to stay strong. _Stay_ strong, not _be_ strong and that makes one hell of a difference.

Bucky smiles back and eats his apple, firmly shoving aside that strange feeling of Steve’s eyes on him. So maybe they _did_ change Steve, with that serum. Doesn’t matter though, he’s still Bucky’s friend. He’s still Steve.

 

**Steve**

They get back into friendlier territory, even meet some locals willing to help. They hole up in an abandoned village for the night, for once having enough food so everybody can fill his stomach, sit around a fire, sated and happy. The houses are dirty and empty, some barely more than rubble, but there are roofs over their heads, they can light a bigger fire now, so the soldiers are content to roll up in their blankets and go to sleep.

There’s a small stream nearby and most of Steve’s little herd has used the opportunity to get cleaned up. Bucky hasn’t, he’s waited, maybe he doesn’t want the others to watch. Steve likes that – their eyes aren’t worthy. Bucky is _his_.

Eventually, when most of the others are dozing, Bucky gets up and tells the few still awake enough to hear that he’s going to the small river. Steve waits for a few seconds then follows. Someone needs to make sure Bucky stays safe, there is still danger out there in the night, and who better to shield him from it than Steve?

Bucky doesn’t hear him when Steve walks behind him on silent feet, the gazelle not noticing the lion lying in wait in the darkness. He takes off his clothes and Steve watches, eyes caressing the secrets getting bared in front of his greedy eyes. Bucky, here, alive and well. Soft pale skin, glowing silver in the moonlight, a marble statue made of muscle and sinews, an enchanting figure in the dark forest, a perfect shape beckoning him to come closer, to touch…

Bucky flinches when Steve rests a hand on his back, turns around and looks at him, eyes black and liquid in the moonlight. Bruises cover his back and sides, more bruises on his front, Steve looks at them and he frowns.

“What are you doing, Steve?” Bucky asks, taking a step back warily, lithe as a doe and just as shy.

Steve swallows, his mouth is dry desert. The water of the stream trickles by invitingly, but that won’t soothe his parched throat. No, there is but one thing he needs to taste, to fill his mouth and senses and quench his thirst. “I’m looking at you.” He says, because how can he not? His mouth is dry desert and Bucky is an _oasis_.

“Well, stop it. You’re creeping me out.” Bucky slaps his hands away, they have been reaching for him without Steve’s command. Steve doesn’t fault them for reaching, his hands are eager to touch, his entire body is craving the feeling of Bucky against his skin.

Steve follows, gaze roaming the feast laid out before him. Tendons and muscles, veins and bones and soft, soft skin. A feast, a meal, an oasis to satisfy every single one of Steve’s needs. “Your bruises. I don’t like them. I don’t like what they did to you. That they dared.”

Bucky takes another step back, ducking his head. Uncomfortable? With the memories? With Steve looking at him? “Yeah, well they dared, so.”

Steve follows him again, trapping him between his body and a tree. Caging him in. Catching, _caught_. “I don’t like it. They shouldn’t have; I’ll kill them for you. For touching what is mine.”

Bucky flinches back, shock widening his eyes and making his mouth drop open, soft and wet. “What?!”

“You’re mine.” Steve says, because it’s true. “You’re mine, Bucky. Mine.”

Bucky shifts, blinking and frowning, uncomfortable and a little scared. Shy? Steve smiles: how sweet. He doesn’t need to be shy or scared, his sweet Bucky. Steve is here, he’ll keep him safe. _Mine_. Bucky swallows and forces a laugh, brittle and trembling. “Oh Steve. Don’t say that. It’s… you’re freaking me out, stop it. You’ve had your fun, now just… leave me alone, okay?”

Bucky doesn’t believe him. He will: Steve will prove it.

Bucky is big – Steve is bigger. Bucky is strong – Steve is stronger. Bucky fights – Steve makes him lose. It’s a game. It ends with Bucky on his stomach, pressed into the grass by Steve’s body. It ends with Steve’s hand clamped tightly over Bucky’s mouth to keep him from screaming. It ends with Steve forcing his cock into Bucky’s dry ass, joining them together deeply and burying himself to the hilt.

It ends with that? No, it begins: Now Bucky knows he is _his_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. This chapter contains non-con. Explicit non-con. Steve is a fucking psychopath. And my brain scares me. Seriously - this is a warning, people. Do not read if you are weak of stomach. I fucking creeped myself out when I wrote this and I couldn't even re-read it to check for spelling and grammar before sending it to [zilldk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zilldk) for betaing purposes. So yeah. BE WARNED.

Steve fucks him hard and fast, brutal. It’s too tight, too dry, too rough, but soon Bucky’s ass is forced open enough, Steve’s precome and his spit easing the way. Bucky’s blood, too, painting Steve’s dick red and shiny when he pulls out. It fits – Bucky’s blood on him, Steve’s seed inside Bucky. Mingling fluids, essence. Blood-brothers, maybe. Lovers. Joined.

Bucky howls and fights and tries to throw him off. Steve holds him down and fucks him harder. He bites Bucky’s neck when he comes, sucks his blood down greedily, marveling at the taste while his seed claims Bucky’s insides. Steve catches his breath afterwards, keeping Bucky pinned with his cock in his ass and his teeth in his neck. Enjoys the feeling, them. Together. At last.

Murmurs words of love and possession into Bucky’s ears, mine, all mine, you’re mine. Starts thrusting again, loves his new stamina. Bucky whines, sweet and desperate, tries to crawl away. Steve shushes him, tells him to stay, I’ll keep you safe, I’ll never let you go. Fucks him more slowly now, tender and careful, kisses Bucky’s neck and swears they’ll stay together, always. Mine. Comes again, more of himself inside Bucky. Wants to crawl inside him and dig in deep, never let go. My Bucky.

A third time, his stamina is fantastic. Much better than the last time they did this. Bucky stops fighting, lies there and takes it. So sweet, his Bucky. All mine. Steve snakes a hand around slender, bruised hips, wraps his fingers around a flaccid cock. Thrusts deep, searching the right angle – finds it when Bucky whimpers. That cock throbs and starts filling in his hand, Steve smiles and licks praise into the skin of Bucky’s back. See? You know it. We belong together. My Bucky, mine.

Steve’s third orgasm hits, he pours more seed into Bucky, pours his soul into him. Bucky comes, too, on Steve’s cock and his fingers. Steve smiles – at last.

Bucky belongs to Steve. Steve proves it.

Bucky cries.

 

***

 

They lie together for a while afterwards, still joined. Steve’s come is starting to trickle out around his cock, milky white mixed with red smears of Bucky’s blood. Joined in more ways than one. Bucky cries, Steve licks at his tears. Don’t cry, my Bucky. It’s alright. I’m here.

He knows Bucky hasn’t done this a lot – almost never, really. Nobody but Steve showed him this, and last time doesn’t count. Bucky forgot, so it doesn’t count. Maybe it will, if Bucky ever remembers? Steve asks him: remember when you came home, smelling of that whore? When I first showed you you were mine? You forgot about it, haven’t you? Maybe I hit your head too hard with that piece of wood – but you were taller than me, I had to, didn’t I? 

Bucky squeezes his eyes closed and sobs. Oh well then, apparently it counts. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re mine, I never want to hurt you. Shh, don’t cry. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never hurt you. I promise, you’re mine.

Steve carries him to the stream and washes them both, gently and carefully. Taking care of Bucky, like he always did. You’re mine and I’m yours, he tells him. Always. You’re everything I have, and I’m everything you have. I’ll never leave you and you – you’ll never leave me, will you?

Bucky shivers and shies away. Doesn’t look at him. Steve frowns. You’ll never leave me, he repeats. I won’t let you. They already took you away from me twice, the army and Hydra. I’ll never let you go. I’ll kill everyone who tries to take you from me, I swear. You’re mine.

Bucky doesn’t believe him. Still doesn’t look at him either. Steve forces him to look. Stares right into his eyes and promises:

“If you try to leave me, if you tell anyone about us, if you ask someone to help you get away, I’ll kill them. Not you, because you’re mine and I don’t want to lose you. But anybody else – anyone who tries to take you away from me, I’ll kill them. Do you hear me? You’ll never leave me: You’re mine. I’ll kill them all. I’ve done it before.”

Bucky stares at him, eyes wide and glassy with shock. Steve smiles – Bucky believes him. Bucky won’t leave. Remember the fire, Steve says, and Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head, he slumps, unconscious.

That’s okay – Steve catches him. He picks Bucky up and carries him back towards his clothes. Bucky isn’t light, but Steve is strong. He can carry him, take care of him. It’s easy.

Bucky is his.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry... :((
> 
> I... might actually have to take a little break from writing this story now. The next chapter (non-con aftermath) is already finished and will be up soon (it's with my beta), so you won't have to wait that long for more. But... writing this is kind of intense and... wrecks me. Yeah. I seriously creeped myself the fuck out with this and the next chapter, so I might need to take a little break. But, since the next chapter is already finished, there'll be more soon. And it'll probably only be a short break anyway, since I'm still thinking about I wanna write the rest of the movies and pondering different details, I just kind of can't write anything right now. I'll write fluffy cute fic instead... So, uh, sorry about that? But there'll be definitely more soon, I swear!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That non-con warning still applies, people. More (non-explicit) rape and some serious angst, since this is the rape-aftermath-Bucky's POV-chapter. So: warning for NON-CON and ANGST. Please do not read if that bothers you - even I only re-read it twice, and that only when I got it back from my beta. So, careful, okay? You have been warned.
> 
> PS: This one is for zilldk: without you this chapter wouldn't be as good (that sounds weird, considering it's about things that are, well, really not good at all) as it is now. And also you gave me compliments that pretty much made my day, darling. I especially loved this reaction: "OWWIE" :D

**Bucky**

The next day passes in a daze. Memories tumble through Bucky’s mind, a violent whirlwind of blood-red stains on cloth and flesh, moisture leaking from his body, tears and blood and… other things dripping from hidden places until he’s empty, empty. He’s filled again by searing flames, licking over his insides, the fire so hot and bright he feels like he’s burning to ash. Memories, blood and flames fill his mind until he wants to rip out his own eyes so he can stop seeing what happened on those nights – when his family died, when he was eighteen and coming home smelling of sex – and _last_ night.

Bucky wants to forget, pretend it never happened. He can’t. It’s acid in his mind with the flames burning his family, with the sharp thorns of his forgotten memory and with the searing agony in his ass that reminds him with every step of what Steve did. It’s acid inside both Bucky’s body and mind, trickling into his veins, eating him alive from the inside.

Steve with a stick in his hand, bent over a dog with blood on its fur. Steve holding him down, between his legs, more acid forced inside him until he burns. Steve smelling like gas and smoke when he’d held Bucky on that street, smelling like fire despite the fact that he had only just gotten there. Or so Bucky had thought.

_“Anyone who tries to take you away from me, I’ll kill them. You’ll never leave me: You’re mine.”_

It’s the thing with his family that hurts the most, much worse than the pain in his ass. Last night, when Steve… the thought that Steve had…

_“You’re everything I have, and I’m everything you have.”_

That’s definitely true, isn’t it? He doesn’t have anyone but Steve. Bucky laughs. Or maybe he cries, he’s not sure. Everything is confusing right now. His mind is… chaos.

Looking around at the others doesn’t help. They don’t notice anything wrong – they are used to him being silent sometimes, after that compound. They don’t know what happened there, but they know it was bad. And they have no idea what happened last night when – Bucky shudders. No.

Steve is… chaos as well. Brings him water when they rest at midday and smiles at him. Cups his cheek and ignores how Bucky jerks away from his touch. Laughs a little even, and calls him shy. Bucky’s soul is bright glass, fractured, and at Steve’s smile a piece breaks off and disappears into a dark abyss. There’s a bitemark on the back of Bucky’s neck, only just hidden by the collar of his shirt. Steve’s eyes get soft when he strokes it gently. Loving. Careful. Those fractures widen.

_“You’re mine.”_

He’s not. _He won’t be_.

 

***

 

It happens again. Bucky fights. Steve is stronger. Holds him close afterwards, close like a lover. Repeats the word: Mine. Again and again, until it drowns out everything inside Bucky’s mind. No. He’s _not_.

And again: Bucky tries fighting, Steve holds him down. Is gentle this time and tears sear Bucky’s cheeks. It’s worse when Steve is gentle. The bruises Bucky put on Steve are gone the next day. The marks on Bucky will stay a lot longer.

And again. Fighting doesn’t help. Neither does begging. Steve is rough, Bucky bleeds again. The next morning one of the soldiers asks him if he’s alright. Bucky sees Steve watching and doesn’t answer. Two hours later their group walks along a cliff, a roaring river beneath. The soldier falls, his scream echoes in Bucky’s head. Steve watches him. I told you, he says. Ice runs through Bucky’s veins until he shivers. Steve holds him close. His heat burns the cold away until Bucky is nothing but ash, an empty hearth.

Again it happens – Bucky tries to fight, Steve overpowers him. Tells him: I _said_ I would kill anyone who tried to help you get away, you didn’t believe me. Do you now? You’re _mine_.

Bucky believes him.

He stops fighting.

 

***

 

Steve rewards him: he’s gentle. A friendly, warm arm around his shoulders when they sit by the fire. Smiles and more apples, fingers ruffling his hair. Bucky accepts it. Those fractures have opened, his soul is bleeding out. He’s got no strength left. He’s empty.

The others see Captain Rogers, the hero. Captain America. They love and adore him. Bucky sees more: claws and teeth behind the mask. Claws that would rip apart anyone who dares to touch Bucky. And teeth that have sunk deep into his flesh and will never let him go. Steve’s right: Bucky is his.

It’s not so bad when Steve is gentle.

 

***

 

They get back to camp, finally. A pretty lady in uniform tells Steve he’s late. The General tells him he won’t be prosecuted for disregarding orders. Bucky says: “Let’s hear it for Captain America!” and everybody cheers.

Captain America is a hero, so they cheer, Bucky as well. Captain America saved them, after all, he deserves gratitude. But Steve… Steve is no hero. He’s… something else.

The smile slips off Bucky’s face, despite his attempts to keep it there. Last night when he took Bucky, Steve said they need to keep up a façade. Other people shouldn’t see what they do together, or they’ll try to take Bucky away and Steve won’t let that happen. Bucky tries, but it’s hard, keeping up that smile.

It’s not so bad when Steve is gentle. It’s not.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you can guess where the "OWWIE" came from :P  
> ANYWAY. More soon, I'm plotting the next chapter and will write it as soon as I find some time, so stay tuned - more to come soon!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, your eyes do not deceive you - it is indeed a new chapter! :P  
> Sorry about the wait, I had a hard time getting back into the proper mindset. And RL and other things have kept me busy... but here's the next part, I hope you enjoy! :D

**Phillips**

Rogers, as it turns out, has suddenly morphed from a dancing monkey in a God-awful costume into a veritable hero. At least most of the soldiers think so – cheering and waving their arms, clapping loudly for Rogers’ benefit. Congratulations and admiration all around, even Carter has a smile on her serious face and two little stars in her adoring eyes. Aww. Young love, how cute.

Not that Rogers has eyes for her, no. His entire focus is on the man standing next to him, looking at him like he wants to make sure Barnes doesn’t go anywhere. Right… that’s the man Rogers did this whole thing for. They grew up together, didn’t they? Friends since the days they wore diapers, at least that’s what Carter told him. Phillips wouldn’t care if they sucked at the same tit when they were babies or if they braided each other’s hair. So maybe Barnes is Rogers’ brother by another mother, he doesn’t give a shit. In war there’s no place for special treatment – except if you’re the son of a fucking US senator, those boys always get the cushy desk jobs far away from the front line – and Rogers running off half-cocked to save some buddy of his… yes, that shit does not fly under Phillips’ rule. At least… not usually.

The thing is… here is something he can use to his advantage. Has done so already, in fact. Set the wheels in motion, so to speak. Rogers might think he was all rebellious and sneaky, disobeying Phillips’ orders and running off to face Schmidt on his own, but he’d be wrong about that. Phillips doesn’t mind others seeing it like that, even Rogers himself – it fits his purpose. Nobody needs to know what truly happened… especially not Rogers. Phillips doesn’t know him that well, but one thing is very clear: Captain America wouldn’t like it if he knew he was being manipulated…

It was a test, the whole thing. To see what Rogers would do, how he’d behave, now that he’s exchanged playing the soldier on stage for the reality of war. Figure out if his super-soldier can be useful or if he’s just a lab rat, more fit to sit on an examination table somewhere instead of doing his part in this war. The test results are… somewhat less than he’d hoped, but still look promising.

This is what he has found out: Rogers doesn’t like following orders if they don’t suit his purpose. Oh, he’ll follow them readily enough if they don’t go against something he wants, or else he never would have agreed to that Senator’s stupid show-and-dance they made him go on. Phillips is pretty sure he knows why Rogers agreed to put on that eyesore of a costume. To get here, to Barnes. But if someone gives him an order he doesn’t agree with, like Phillips did, Rogers has no problem disobeying it. Not that Phillips minded – he pretty much invited him to go after Barnes and the rest of the 107th. Some men you can order to do something, some men you have to talk into it or cajole or threaten… and some men you can manipulate into doing it. Seems like Rogers might be one of the last group. And now that the 107th is rescued, well, what’s left of the prisoners anyway, the men see Rogers as a fucking hero. Some of his glory will rub off on Phillips himself, simply because he’s the Captain’s CO – it certainly will look nice to his superiors back home. And… now Phillips has something he can use to bind Rogers close to him. Several somethings even.

The first one is easy – now that Rogers has gotten a taste of what it is like to be seen as a hero, he’ll want more of it. You only have to look at his face, glowing in satisfaction as he accepts the praise from all the other men here, to know that he enjoys it. Maybe even thinks he deserves it, super-human that he is, better than everyone else here. Their adoration is his due, he deserves and expects it. And that Phillips can work with… hubris is always a good way to get someone under your thumb.

The second one is rather obvious as well. From what Phillips gathers from the men Rogers had freed, through a mixture of interrogation, subtle cajoling and plain ordering to tell him what happened, he’s found out that Rogers seems to have developed a real taste for killing Nazis. Hydra especially… killed a whole bunch back at that compound, most in a rather… dramatic way. Hands-on approach, so to speak. The soldiers Phillips has questioned assume it’s because he’s out to get revenge on Hydra for torturing his buddy Barnes. Normally Phillips would tell him to get over it – this is war after all, torture is something that happens to a lot of good men here, there’s nothing anybody can do to change it, not unless they kill every last one of those Hydra Nazi bastards. But, well… Rogers is certainly welcome to try his best. With his new abilities the guy might even be able to get rid of quite a few of those fuckers… And if Phillips can just manage to get him to set his sights on Schmidt and his pet scientist Zola… well, he’ll only have to lean back and enjoy the show.

So he’ll offer Rogers his own team, tell him he can go after Hydra, kill as many of those fuckers as he wants. Feed his hunger for revenge and afterwards bathe in the admiration of the masses, Captain fucking America ridding the world of evil one Hydra cell at a time. Shouldn’t be hard to get Rogers to agree…

 

***

 

As it turns out it both isn’t and is easy to get Rogers to become his own personal pet soldier. At first it looks like it won’t work, since Rogers, when Phillips goes to make his offer, gives him a salute that looks more like a raised middle finger, and politely declines, announcing he’d rather stay with the 107th, if the General wouldn’t mind. To take care of some things. Phillips cocks his head when Rogers says that and has a pretty good idea of what those things are.

There’s already been whispers, rumors flying around about Rogers and his dear old friend Barnes. Oh, nobody knows anything for sure, but they are speculating. That Rogers fought his way through half of Europe to save his buddy is… interesting to most people, as is the fact that the two share a tent. Normally Phillips wouldn’t give a shit, it’s not like he really minds if one of his boys takes it up the ass from time to time, especially here where there’s a sad lack of women. But now, with Rogers so close to his grasp and unwilling to let himself get pulled into Phillips’ clutches? Well, that is something he can definitely use, to get him to heel. Rogers wants to stick close to his little buddy, doesn’t he? The one he saved from Hydra, probably even joined the army just to be with him. Maybe he even loves him? Well, then he’ll probably agree to quite a lot of things, if Phillips plays his cards right.

Careful investigation shows that Barnes is actually qualified for a medical discharge, seeing as he was tortured. Apparently he’s been through ‘hell and back and it’s a wonder he’s still alive’, Doc Reynolds tells him. And that Doc is not the sort to get squeamish easily, he’s been through two wars. If Doc Reynolds says it’s bad, it’s fucking _horrible_. So yeah, Barnes is qualified to go home. It’s in his files, they are pretty much only waiting for Phillips’ signature to send the boy home. Perfect.

Step 1: inform Rogers and Barnes that the latter will be off on medical discharge soon. Be happy, soldiers. Good news, right? Needless to say that Rogers is not happy, just like Phillips expected. Tries to argue the decision (not that Phillips has made it yet, but Rogers doesn’t have to know that). Barnes looks weirdly relieved when Phillips shares the news, probably eager to get away from the horrors of war, even if that means leaving Rogers behind. But this isn’t really about the Sergeant anyway. He’s a nice little bonus, sure, since he’s apparently quite the sniper, but it’s more about getting Rogers to stay. Who, now that someone’s trying to take his pal away, needs help to fix it.

Step 2: Tell him that Phillips can make sure Barnes stays right where he is, at Rogers’ side. He can do that, easy as pie. He’s a fucking General, after all. A little ray of hope for Rogers – and apparently a nail in the coffin for Barnes, who looks fucking crushed at that offer, but who cares. This is war, son. We all have to make sacrifices. Of course Rogers agrees – which means that now he’s in Phillips’ debt.

Step 3: Lay out the way things are going to be from now on. Phillips will let Rogers keep Barnes, if Rogers does his part and makes Phillips look good. Not that this will be a hardship, and Rogers perks right up when he hears he’s supposed to go after Hydra and destroy as many of them as he can. Just a second ago he looked almost ready to kill Phillips, but now he’s nothing but intrigued. Phillips smiles at that – just as he expected.

This is the deal: Rogers keeps Barnes, gets his own team. Goes after Hydra and takes them out one by one. Earns the praise and glory that comes with ridding the world of them, the admiration of his fellow soldiers and probably a few medals along the way. Can even go about things however he likes, in uniform or not, guns or knives, whatever he wants. Shoot them on sight, blow them up, cut off their feet, who cares, as long as it gets done. And… as long as he does what Phillips tells him, goes where he’s ordered, he doesn’t care what Rogers does while he’s away on a mission. But the Captain needs to go where Phillips tells him to go. He’ll become a blade for Phillips to wield, and what use is a blade when it doesn’t cut where it’s supposed to? So yeah, Rogers will follow Phillips’ orders and make his General look good to his superiors. Or he’ll take Barnes away quicker than the man can say ‘but’. As deals go, it’s a pretty sweet one and Rogers seems to agree… not that he has much choice in the matter.

Rogers is definitely hungry for revenge, telling everybody who wants to listen about those Hydra bases he noticed on that map and how they all need to be destroyed. Even tells them he wants to take part in this. Ostensibly to, yes, rid the world of their evil, but Phillips knows better. This isn’t about protecting the free world or saving humanity from the clutches of Hydra. This is pure revenge for Rogers, it’s glinting in his eyes like a promise of blood and death. Rogers is fucking hungry for payback. Doesn’t even have to say it for Phillips to know… There’s something dark and animalistic inside Rogers now. Maybe it’s been there all this time and he just hasn’t seen it, maybe it’s only come into life when they gave him the serum, who knows. But it’s there. Rogers is a bloodthirsty, violent son of a bitch. A man after Phillips’ taste…

God knows they need men like that in this war. Sweet little obedient soldiers are good and well, but sometimes there’s a need for someone else. Someone who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and to do things that would be… frowned upon in polite company. Sometimes, when the enemy kills your men with weapons that look like they belong in the future or tortures your soldiers and experiments on them, using methods of death and destruction that would be more at home in the Middle Ages… well, then you need someone who is just like them. Not a soldier, or a hero, no. You need a killer. And Rogers? He certainly fits the bill.

He tells them he wants to be part of their little elite group going after Hydra, even got himself a nice little pack of dogs to do his bidding – an assortment of misfits from various branches of the force, even a Frenchman and a guy from the UK. Phillips nods it off, not giving a shit about who Rogers picks to help him as long as there are results. Even sets up a meeting between Rogers and Stark, those two should get along like a house on fire with Rogers’ bloodthirsty tendencies and Stark’s love of weaponry that can kill a lot of people very easily.

Rogers is his perfect weapon now, a blade so wickedly sharp it’ll cut through whatever it touches. _Phillips’_ weapon.

 

**Bucky**

He’s sitting at the bar, nursing his drink, now and then shifting on the hard wood of the chair. His ass feels like it’s on fire. One would think that he’s used to this by now, the pain and the strain of Steve taking him, but he’s not. And last night Steve wasn’t exactly gentle. Took out his anger and frustration on Bucky’s unresisting body, fucked him hard and almost made him bleed. He didn’t, though, Bucky’s learned a few things by now. Keeps a bottle of gun oil close at hand at all times, to make sure Steve doesn’t tear him like he did those first times. And Steve likes it when Bucky opens himself up, watches with a smile and tells him how beautiful he looks. That’s kinda nice. Sometimes it makes Steve be gentle, but sometimes not. Like last night. Maybe it’s good that he had Bucky to work through his anger, he shudders to think what he’d have done if Bucky hadn’t been there. At least this way nobody else got hurt. If he keeps telling himself that, he might almost believe it.

Bucky sips his drink and remembers last night, when Phillips called them for a private meeting. Bucky doesn’t like the General, there’s something… strange in his eyes, like he’s rotten on the inside. And the way Phillips barely looks at him most days, like he doesn’t even exist… or only as an extension to Steve. It rankles, it really does. Bucky used to be someone, and now he’s reduced to… this. Like he’s not important, just… an accessory. But then again, who would take notice of _anyone_ standing next to Steve? Captain America, the war hero. The perfect soldier. The perfect man. But Steve’s not just Captain America, is he? Beneath that he’s something else and Bucky knows, oh, he knows.

Maybe Phillips knows as well. He certainly seems determined to keep Steve close and under his command. And he’s found the perfect way to make him stay. First he assured that he and Bucky wouldn’t be separated, pretended like he was doing a nice thing, letting them stay together. Oh, the memory of that day… the brief ray of hope at the thought that he might get to go home… away from… things. The war. Steve. Away. And then, such a short time later, that hope crushed. He won’t get to go home, where he might hide himself away somewhere, where nobody (Steve) can find him, no. He’ll have to stay, because Steve and Phillips want it that way. He’s not even asked for his opinion, they just assume he’ll agree. And he did, didn’t he? He has no choice. Even if he didn’t have to obey the General’s orders, there’s still Steve. Who is quite adept at making Bucky do what he wants… no escape, not now, not ever. He’ll have to stay.

And… last night, at that private meeting… Phillips tightened the screws. Told them that people already suspected he and Steve were… an item. Lovers. Something. Lovers? Can it be called that? Lovers are what his parents were, in love. Attuned to each other, gentle and careful with each other. His Pa would never have hurt his Ma, but he and Steve are… different. Maybe Steve does love him, Bucky doesn’t know. Not like the love between his parents, not even _close_ to something like that. Sometimes Steve is gentle, and that’s nice. Bucky doesn’t mind it so much when Steve is gentle, can even tell himself he enjoys it (he doesn’t). But other times…

His mind is drifting away again. That started to happen quite often these past days. His brain just… shuts off and goes someplace nice, where it’s quiet and dark. Where there’s no Steve with clutching hands, digging his fingers deep into Bucky’s body and soul. Where he’s… almost happy. Floating in warm waters. What was he thinking about? Oh yes. Last night. Phillips. The meeting.

People know, Phillips told them. People talk, people listen. Soon the wrong people will listen and they’ll believe what they hear, even if there’s no proof. Steve and he’l get arrested, sent to jail. It’s a crime, even if Bucky isn’t gay (he’s not – Steve made him. He’s not.). They’ll get arrested and taken away, buried in a dark cell and left there to rot. And even with Bucky’s life being the way it is right now, pain and fear and blood – prison sounds worse, a dark abyss waiting to swallow him whole. He knows what happens to gay people, out on the streets and in prison… at least Steve is someone he knows. Familiar pain is easier to take or something. Yeah right. Not really.

Phillips is smart, that cunning old fox. Earlier he offered Steve that little deal, and now he’s making sure Steve sticks to it. Either that or he’ll have them dragged off to prison. Of course Steve said yes – what else was he gonna say?

Nobody asked Bucky. Not Phillips, and especially not Steve. He makes a last ditch attempt to plead with him. Not outright, he’s not brave enough for that. What would he say anyway? What wouldn’t make Steve laugh and pat his head condescendingly, utterly ignoring what Bucky tries to tell him? And it’s not like he can stop Steve from doing whatever he wants – Lord knows he’s tried, but Steve is simply stronger than him. And tell someone else? Who would believe him, now that Steve’s a hero? Captain America would never do something like that (it’s true – Captain America wouldn’t. But _Steve_ does.), and even if they did – Bucky still remembers that soldier, falling down, down, down… in his dreams he hears him scream. No, he can’t tell anybody. Not if he wants to keep them safe.

So no, he doesn’t ask outright. But when Steve comes back from Dum Dum and the others, having gotten them to agree to that insane plan of his (or Phillip’s – but who cares. It’s insane. A handful of men, against Hydra’s hordes? Suicide. But nobody asks him.) and wants to know if Bucky will follow him… like Bucky’s answer actually _matters_. Oh, he’s not kidding himself. Even if he says no, Steve will still drag him along. He’ll never let him go, remember? Yeah, he remembers… he won’t ever forget.

Steve asks him if Bucky will follow Steve Rogers. He says what he’s thinking – that no, he doesn’t want to follow Steve Rogers. Captain America, sure. But not Steve… he’d follow the hero, the good guy, the one who saved dozens of men from imprisonment and torture. The hero, not Steve. Steve is no hero, he is… something much, much worse. But Steve doesn’t hear it, because Bucky doesn’t say that part out loud, says it only quietly inside his own head. He’s afraid of Steve, what he might do if Bucky refuses him like that. In public. He’s still hurting from yesterday, so he doesn’t say no. Not out loud… inside though, inside he’s screaming.

But Steve thinks he’s Captain America, so he only hears what he wants to hear and ignores everything Bucky can’t say but what must be written on his face, if only someone looked close enough to see it. But nobody does.

Agent Carter, when she arrives, clad in a dress of a color that once might have reminded him of poppies but now only makes him think of blood, certainly doesn’t look close enough. Doesn’t look at him at all, in fact, only has eyes for Steve. It’s rather obvious she’s smitten with Steve, dressed like she is, looking at him like he hung the sun and the moon. And Steve looks back at her with an expression that other people might think is warm and affectionate… people who are not Bucky, that is. If there’s anything affectionate in what Steve thinks of Agent Carter, it’s only because she’s useful to him. Apparently helped Steve get to the compound where he… rescued? Recovered? Got Bucky and the others. Oh yes, she’s very useful. In other ways as well.

Phillips explained this to Steve, who in turn told Bucky all about it. Seems like Bucky is not the only one who is supposed to keep up a façade so people won’t see how… things are between the both of them, Steve has to do the same. Captain America, the hero, can’t be associated with anything… deviant. Nobody can think Captain America is a fag. So they’ll both have to pretend. And since Agent Carter is visibly drawn to Steve, she’s the perfect cover. They can talk to each other, Agent Carter all dolled up for Steve, right here where everybody will see, and the rumors will stop. And even if nothing ever comes from it, as long as the other soldiers think Steve and Agent Carter are… involved, everything will be fine. And nobody will look at Bucky twice or wonder why Steve keeps touching him.

He isn’t now, though, he’s not touching Bucky. Doesn’t even look at him, same as Agent Carter. His eyes are focused on her in her pretty red dress. He’s smiling at her now, talking about dancing and the right partners, and that smile, that smile… it’s very similar to the smile he gives Bucky sometimes. Almost warm… inviting. Fuck.

A minute ago Bucky felt sorry for her, thinking that she’s set her sights on a man who will never love her back, she’ll never get the happiness she wants with Steve, because Steve will never choose her. But now… seeing that smile and the way Steve looks at her, he’s not so sure anymore. Maybe Steve doesn’t love her – but maybe he still _wants_ her? Bucky used to think he knows Steve better than anyone, and maybe that’s still true, but, but… what if there’s something he’s missed? after all he hasn’t seen what Steve wanted from him until he just _took_ it, was taken completely by surprise by that (no you weren’t, a small voice in his head says, you saw it before, you just chose to forget). So maybe Steve has a certain… interest for Agent Carter? She is a very pretty dame… and she’d certainly be willing enough, judging from the way she’s looking at Steve… who looks back and his eyes glint with a certain dark light Bucky’s seen before.

Dear Lord, no. Please, God, no. Bucky wants to scream at her to go away, run off and never come back. Flee, go far away and hide, get out get out _get out_ before it’s too late. Can’t she see that glint? Can’t she see what Steve really is? Why doesn’t she _see_?!

Because… what if Steve decides he wants her? Who would stop him? Not Carter, she wouldn’t want to, wouldn’t realize what Steve is before it’s too late. Bucky? Would Bucky stop him? _Could_ he?

He has to. No one else will – so Bucky has to.

If Steve takes her, she’ll break, just like Bucky did. Oh, he’s not kidding himself – he’s broken. He can’t even try to leave. He could have tried to talk to Phillips or one of the docs, to get that medical discharge going – he could have tried to get someone else to let him go home. But he didn’t, and why is that? Because he’s broken and _afraid_. Of Steve and of what he might do if Bucky left. He’s seen it before, the soldier’s screams still haunt his dreams, and what if he really left? Would Steve go after him? He’s disobeyed orders before, gone AWOL when he came after Bucky, who’s to say he wouldn’t again? Hunt him down and take him back? Or maybe he wouldn’t – maybe he’d let him go and pick someone else to… do things with. Someone like Agent Carter. Maybe the chances are slim that he’d do that, but what _if_? Agent Carter is pretty and sweet and strong, a certain hard glint in her eyes that speaks of an inner core that’s made of solid steel… but she’ll break if Steve touches her, just like Bucky did. He thought he was strong too, and look at him now – not even daring to try and escape from Steve’s claws, too afraid of what might happen. To him and to others.

No. Agent Carter can’t… he can’t let that happen. Bucky has to at least try.

He puts on his best smile and flirts, trying to steer her away from Steve without actually warning her off – that wouldn’t go over well with either of them. Especially Steve. But she ignores him completely, never even looks at him. For her he doesn’t exist at all, there is only Steve. Who smiles at her and agrees to a dance – there are undercurrents in those words, but Bucky doesn’t fully understand them; he only notices that Steve’s put down the fumbling, shy, awkward persona that accompanied him for such a long part of their life. He’s almost suave now, talks and smiles easily at Agent Carter, where before he would have blushed and said something stupid. Is that another thing that changed with the serum? Or is that something Steve kept hidden all this time, played the role of the frail, awkward loser to perfection so even Bucky was fooled? Wouldn’t be surprising if it was like that, Lord knows Steve kept quite a few things hidden…

Steve watches her walk away with that smile still on his face. Steve’s handsome and so fucking tall now, muscular and a God damn war hero, pretty women in pretty red dresses flocking to him. And Bucky has turned into the old Steve, even if that one was a fake: the pretty girl won’t even look at him next to his handsome, big friend. It’s actually a little funny and Bucky would almost laugh…

But then, when Steve finally turns back towards him, that smile disappears from his face as quickly as a switch being flipped and suddenly it’s not funny at all anymore and the laughter dies in his throat. Bucky swallows and avoids Steve’s eyes. He knows what’s coming. Hastily he tells Steve that he was only playing his part. People expect him to flirt, so he did, he wasn’t… wasn’t _trying_ anything. Steve frowns at that, mulls it over. Keep up the façade, remember? says Bucky and doesn’t dare to look at the other man. Suddenly Steve smiles. “Were you jealous, Bucky?”

Bucky blinks in surprise – that wasn’t at all what he was insinuating. No. Hell no. Why would Steve think that? He wasn’t… no. He says as much, but Steve only laughs and pats his arm, like one might pat a dog who’s learned a new trick. Good boy, that kind of way.

“Don’t worry”, Steve says, and grins at him secretively. “You’re still the only one for me. Till the end of the line, remember?”

Oh yes, Bucky remembers. He can’t ever forget. This night, when they’re back in their tent, Steve reminds him again and Bucky cries, because it hurts so much. The intrusion, Steve hard and heavy over him, inside him. Deep down in his core. It hurts, oh God, it hurts. Steve makes sure he knows where he belongs and Bucky shudders.

There’s no escape.

Till the end of the line.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we're getting close to the end of this... We're not at the end of the line yet, but you can already see it in the distance...

**Steve**

Life is good.

One year ago he would never have imagined it, but Steve is… happy. Even with war raging around them, the constant threat of blood and death, he feels _good_. Like he’s somewhere he belongs for the first time, like he’s finally being recognized for who he is. Life is pretty damn good, out here in the war, thwarting Hydra’s plans with Bucky at his side and his men around him. Life is like it _should_ be.

This is what Steve enjoys:

Doing what he is good at, using his new, powerful body to destroy his enemies, subdue their soldiers and annihilate their defenses. Hydra has to pay for what they did to Bucky, with flesh and blood and bone, with every enemy soldier he crushes with his bare hands, with every neck he snaps and every throat he rips out. He said he wanted to bathe in their blood and he _does_ , takes down Hydra goon after Hydra goon until the ground is red and Steve is the only man left standing. It feels good doing this, using his new strength and power, testing them against their (weak, so weak) defenses and see them all crumble to dust. They deserve it, they deserve the same pain they gave to Bucky, that and _more_. And Steve _really_ likes giving it to them.

He also likes his men, his little pack of soldiers he’s rallied around his shiny new shield. They are more than sheep, like the others, he’s hand-picked them. He’s noticed them on the way back from the Hydra outpost where they kept Bucky, wolves amongst the sheep. Dangerous, violent, a certain darkness to them that he can use, a need for revenge on their captors that almost rivals his own desire for retaliation. They are eager to go where he leads them, willing to do what he asks them to do, follow his orders without (much) backtalk, his own private little army of wolves, doing his bidding… and they’re protective of Bucky. Have adopted him as their mascot, maybe, or see something in him that they themselves lack: Bucky is still… sweet, even after all he’s been through. Sweet, gentle, _pure_. Oh, Bucky has been hardened by war and pain, but he’s… _sweet_ nonetheless. Shares his rations with random refugees they encounter, stares off into the distance sometimes after an especially brutal raid on a Hydra base and has an expression of regret and anguish on his face that is uncomfortable to look at. Not even Steve’s embrace can relax him then, he stiffens in Steve’s arms and his eyes go flat and dark. But joking with Morita, wrestling playfully with Dum-Dum, sharing stories with Falsworth… that seems to cheer him up. Steve’s men like Bucky, make sure he has what he needs and try to make him smile and Steve likes them even more for that. They’re useful, not just because they’re handy in a fight, but also because they help keep Bucky safe and well.

And Steve especially likes that his sweetheart is right here with him, at his side where he belongs. His Bucky, right where he wants him: an arm’s length away during the day, sharing his bedroll at night. Whenever they’re away on missions he can stick close, touch Bucky whenever and however he wants, the others don’t mind and don’t care, they know better than that. Sometimes they call Bucky Steve’s pet but it’s only in jest, they know what Steve and Bucky share is a lot more than that. Bucky is his, for all eternity, he’s so much more than a pet. Though he whimpers like one sometimes when Steve is a little rough…

Bucky, his Bucky, right at his side, always. Steve has Phillips to thank for that, no matter how much he might want to rip the General’s balls off for… Blackmail. It was blackmail, but it got Steve what he wanted, _needed_ : Bucky. So Phillips deserves Steve’s thanks, even if he’ll never actually say that to him (and if the General were to meet an… unlucky accident, Steve would not be sad at all). But he hates this little charade Phillips has Steve playing, behaving like Peggy’s the one he’s interested in. Steve gets why it’s necessary, pretending to be interested in her so there’s not even the hint of a rumor of him and Bucky engaging in… illicit activities, but it still rankles, being forced to… court Peggy.

She’s pretty and soft, bendable. But not what he wants, he wants dark hair and blue eyes, hard muscles and skin that is as familiar as his own. She’d be nice to fuck once or twice, see how much she can take, but she’s not what he wants. Well, not more than how he already has her: licking at his heels, eager for any scrap of attention. It’s pleasing, in a way, her worshipful gaze whenever he’s back at base camp, it feels like she’s given him the offerings he’s come to recognize as his due, worship, admiration, even love. And why wouldn’t she give him that? He’s the epitome of man, he’s the real Übermensch.

Steve rewards her attentions, keeps up the charade. Brings her flowers sometimes, makes sure to stutter a little when he talks to her, the image of a man being adorably in love. He even gets a stupid picture for his compass. And Phillips is happy, Bucky stays right where he is… so Steve is satisfied as well. He doesn’t mind that charade so much after all, not when he gets what he wants in the end. The result matters, not _how_ you get it, and Steve has Bucky, that’s what counts.

At night, when everybody’s sleeping except for their guard, when he’s got Bucky in his arms, pressing close to him, ever closer, wraps himself in the smell and the taste and the clinging heat of his honey’s body, Steve is content. Bucky doesn’t fight him anymore, accepts him, lets Steve do whatever he wants, the perfect, obedient lover. Yes, Steve is content.

Life is good. And now that they’ve caught wind of where Zola will be, life will be even better. When that weaselly little man is dead there will be only Schmitt left standing – and soon he too will be lying in the dirt at Steve’s feet. And then Bucky will be avenged and they’ll be free…

Their own private happy ending and it’s within their grasp. _And they lived happily ever after_.

Yes, life is good.

 

**Bucky**

Life is hell.

War is hell – he already knew it would be, but experiencing it is infinitesimally worse than he could ever have imagined. Violence and death surrounds him like a suffocating blanket, even when they’re back at base camp he can’t escape it. Wounded soldiers, screaming in pain from the med tents, the slow trickle of survivors and refugees filtering through the camp, blood and pain everywhere. And when they’re out on one of their so-called missions that feel less like missions and more like slaughter, it’s just that much worse. Broken bones, bullet holes, sightless eyes staring up at the sky and he can’t look away, can’t turn his head, has to watch how snowflakes land on eyes that are empty and dead and they don’t melt, the snowflakes stick there on a body that is as cold as they are…

Bucky shivers and wraps his blanket tighter around himself, inching closer to the fire to soak up a little warmth, to soothe his icy core. He thought he would be fine here, going after Hydra. Steve had made it sound like a good thing in his little speech before they started doing this. Getting revenge on Hydra, payback. Retaliation for torturing him, making them suffer like he suffered… oh, Bucky wanted it. There’s a chill in his blood, icy water running through his veins and he thought that… that revenge would warm him up. Start a fire inside him so he’d feel warm again, not lost and cold like a lamb trapped in a snare deep inside a dark forest….

It didn’t help, he still is cold, so cold. Little poor lost lamb, little boy crying for his mother… he would, Bucky thinks, he’d call for her, but she’s gone, she’s gone… he’s all alone. The only one here is Steve.

Steve who is fire and death and destruction, a demon cutting a swath through his enemies, the violent red arc of blood spraying across his face, decorating it crimson with warrior sigils that burn when you look at them. Steve has no mercy, Steve has no regrets, Steve has a purpose and that purpose is death. Oh, Bucky would like to believe that Steve is doing this for him, like he’d promised, to get revenge for them taking Bucky away from him… but he knows it’s more than that. Steve _enjoys_ it, the beast that lived unseen in his frail body is finally unleashed and its claws are long and sharp. Steve revels in his new powers, he enjoys it, he would dance on their graves if they had any, if they didn’t rot where they lie…

Steve is fire. And Steve is… _warm_. Burning hot to the touch, whenever he presses Bucky down into the mossy bed of the forest ground, tumbles him into fragile leaves and prickly pine needles. Steve is fire, he’s death, but he’s warm, he’s _warm_ – he’s the only thing that can make the chill deep inside Bucky go away, even if it’s only for a few hours.

Oh, Bucky is aware that he’s broken and _sick_ for wanting this, he knows it. Because no matter how gentle Steve sometimes is, holding him close, stroking his nape, whispering promises and kisses over his skin… there are times Steve is not gentle. Those times Bucky whimpers and pleads, tries his best to keep the anguished noises trapped in his throat, scared little mice trembling in their hiding place. Steve takes and _takes_ , whatever Bucky has left to give, takes it all and wants even _more_ , until Bucky feels hollow, dark and empty. Steve fills that emptiness with himself, fire and pain and Bucky hates himself for wanting that fire. But he does, he tries to get as close to it as possible, because even Steve’s fire is better than the cold emptiness he’s come to know.

He presses close, can’t help it. He knows better, _should_ know better. One day that fire will consume him, burn him to ash. Him and everyone around.

Like the Howling Commandos – Steve’s wolves, as he calls them. His little pack of soldiers, flocking to Steve’s command like sheep because they can’t see him like Bucky sees him. Or maybe they do, they have… there is _something_ about them that sometimes sends familiar shivers down Bucky’s spine. A certain glint in their eyes that he’s seen before, a subdued violence that doesn’t match Steve’s but feels like an echo of it. And like Steve can be gentle and almost… caring if it suits him, before the very next second his fingers turn into claws and his soft touch into brutal pressure, there are two very different sides to the Commandos as well. Like Dum-Dum sharing his blanket with a wild-eyed soldier rescued from a Hydra base, then laughing at a fallen enemy who’s writhing on the ground with a broken spine. Like Falsworth sharing stories of his little niece and then ripping the wings off a bird just to hear it scream. Laughter and violence, raunchy songs and brutality. Two sides of a coin, just like with Steve: Captain America, the hero of the people, and Steve, the monster ruling Bucky’s life.

They like him, Steve’s wolves. Dernier shares his rations, remarking (via Gabe) that Bucky is getting too skinny. Morita makes joke after joke, shoves him and picks at him, making Bucky laugh so hard he almost cries. They all like him, they tease him and make him smile and he wonders why. Is it because he’s, like they say, Steve’s pet? He shudders at the word – no, no. Yes? No. They protect him, as well as they can when they’re surrounded by danger everywhere, when there’s no safety anywhere they still keep him safe. Praise his skills with his rifle, make sure he gets the best and biggest portion if they find food that isn’t army rations, wrap arms around him and touch him…

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, he never says a word against it. Maybe he knows that these men, his wolves, would never try to get between him and Bucky, they are his loyal dogs who would never betray him. Or maybe he’s realized that Bucky needs this, needs _them_ , a little bit of normalcy in this hellhole of a life, people who are nice and make him laugh and don’t force him to bend over and… and…

Bucky likes them, it’s a fact. Even with that violence inside them, even if they’re willing followers on Steve’s mission of destruction and blood, he likes them. There must be something broken inside him, but God help him, he _likes_ them… he belongs, for the first time with someone who is not Steve. He’s part of them now, he has… _friends_. They warm him a little as well, a gently glowing ember that’s not easily extinguished, deep down in his core.

And yet Steve burns brighter, hotter, all-consuming. Overwhelming that ember. And why wouldn’t he? Steve is brighter and better than them all, he’s fire, a raging inferno. And Bucky? Bucky _burns_.

 

***

 

Steve fighting an enemy, a deadly dance of fists and weapons, his shield a silver blur through the air. The others around them, engaged in combat as well, explosions and weapons fire in Bucky’s ears.

His stomach on the ground, wetness seeping into his clothes, his rifle in his hands. He is shaking but his hands are steady. The rifle against his cheeks, a hard, familiar comfort, his eyes half-narrowed in concentration. Pulling the trigger, the sound a mere whisper to his battle-deafened ears, the spray of blood as an enemy falls with his arms in the air like he’s embracing death.

Battle all around him, Bucky and his rifle, and Steve at its center, focused on his opponent. A glint behind him, in the distance, a sniper, a gun trained on Steve, a silver arrow of death –

Time disappears. Everything stops moving. Bucky breathes, slowly, slowly. Death. Steve. Steve’s death.

Steve’s death?

Steve’s death. Bucky’s escape. Freedom is suddenly close, only the ping of a bullet away…

All Bucky has to do is wait, do nothing and wait, nobody else has seen the other sniper, he’s the only one, he could let it happen, he’s too much of a coward to do it himself and it would be… murder, it would be, no, he can’t… but this? This would be war, a casualty of war, many people die in the war and Steve is not invincible, he bleeds, he hurts, he hurts Bucky, he’s pain and suffering and now it could be over, over, Bucky could be free, he could…

Last night Steve held him down and made him bleed.

One year ago he bought him candy cane on the state fair.

A week ago Bucky had finger-shaped bruises on his hips and could barely walk.

Ten years ago Steve drew a portrait of Bucky for his birthday and it was the first time he realized he could be beautiful, if only in the eyes of others.

A month ago Steve used his knife to carve his initials into Bucky’s skin. They still haven’t healed, he’ll have scars until the day he dies.

A lifetime ago they met, when Bucky was crying his eyes out after getting beat up and losing his lunch to a group of bullies. A skinny boy gave him an apple and said ‘you don’t have to cry, I’ll protect you’…

Bucky can’t, he can’t –

He pulls the trigger, the spark of freedom dies with the whisper of his bullet. The other sniper falls to the ground, hitting it with a horrible thud. Steve whirls around, instantly understanding what happened, then turns to Bucky. And grins, fiery and bright, happy and pleased. Grateful.

And Bucky? Nods with shaking hands and looks down. The cold seeps back in, up from the ground, spreading through his body, turning his blood to ice, frost spreading over his heart.

Life is hell and hell is cold. There’s no escape, no happy ending. Little lost lamb in the dark woods… and the wolf is howling in the darkness, drawing ever closer.

No escape from the cold. No warmth but for Steve’s fire and Bucky knows he will burn. Soon. Soon…

Soon he’ll burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I AM MEAN AND I DON'T CAAAARE mwahahaha!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, your eyes do not deceive you, this is indeed a new chapter... I'm very sorry about the long wait! RL was crazy busy, then I moved to a new appartment, then work was busy as fuck, then I got distracted by other things, then... I was making excuses for the long break. Ahem. Still: SORRY!  
> Here's more and the next bit is already in beta, so even if this chapter is a bit short, there's something to look forward to...
> 
> And once again: huge thanks to zilldk for betaing this so quickly!!

**Bucky**

It’s cold up here on the mountain. Nothing but the wind and the rocks and the snow, a blinding white that almost hurts to look at for too long. The path that took them up here is a stark contrast, greyish, dirty sludge with dark stones peeking out where their feet have trampled a bruise into the innocent white blanket. It’s beautiful up here Bucky thinks and shields his eyes to look around. Vast and white, high peaks and deep valleys, barren and lonely. Nothing grows up here at this altitude except for a few crooked trees that duck against the freezing wind, sturdy bushes that are bare of any leaves at this time of year. And the moss of course. Moss is resilient, finds a place to grow almost anywhere. Moss is pretty great. It even has tiny flowers in the spring…

Bucky is getting distracted by random things again. It happens more and more often lately, his brain just… disengages and focuses on things like moss flowers instead of what’s happening around him. He loses himself in contemplating how flies breathe or if the old farm where he once spent a summer holiday when he was five still exists. Forgets the world for a short while, just… gets lost in his thoughts. It should be concerning, him losing focus like that, but it’s not. His current world has a lot in it that he’d rather forget.

Morita pokes him in the back to get him moving again; Bucky’s blocking the path. He flinches – the other man managed to poke him right into a bruise – and continues walking. Up ahead Steve is already standing on the small plateau that is their goal. He’s looking all heroic like this: shield on his back, arms crossed, his hair dashingly wind-swept… He looks… yeah, like a hero. And Bucky has a bite mark on his shoulder that still hasn’t stopped bleeding. Steve’s uniform is red, white and blue and Bucky’s dark clothes hide the red seeping from his various wounds, staining his skin, his clothes, his soul…

Steve seems to feel Bucky’s eyes on him and turns around. His eyes are glinting with a familiar light, his teeth look weirdly sharp and pointy when he grins widely: “Alright, boys! Set up shop. We’ll eat first and then we’ll –“

 

_Bucky’s fork clatters onto his plate and he shoves his chair back hard enough it screeches over the floor. He’s almost at the door, reaching for his jacket (gotta wear a jacket, Mom says, so you don’t catch a cold like Stevie, you want to stay healthy, don’t you, darling, or your Mom will be sad?) when he hears his Mom’s voice: “And where do you think you’re going, James?”_

_Uh-oh. That’s his real name and if Mom uses his real name, Bucky is in_ trouble _. But why?! He didn’t even_ do _anything! And nobody ever saw him break that plate (it was an_ accident _! He didn’t_ mean _to!) and she can’t know, can she?!_

_Bucky turns around and looks at her. She doesn’t look mad? So that’s good? Maybe she doesn’t know after all? “Just playing. With Stevie.”_

_Mom frowns. “You are spending an awful lot of time with that boy, James. I’m not sure I like that. I think you should stay home today.”_

_Bucky scowls. “But I ate all my stupid vegetables and I jus’ wanna_ play _and it’s not_ fair _!” It’s_ not _!_

_Dad clears his throat. “Language, son.”_

_Bucky scowls some more and kicks at the floor. “Sorry.” He mutters and feels his heart sink. If they get mad they’ll make him stay here and he and Stevie found a little pond the other day and maybe it has fish in it and they wanted to see if they could catch one. Maybe he should say please?_

_“Can I please leave the table?” he says, all polite, and makes the really big eyes that sometimes make the lady selling fruit give him an apple. “Only Stevie is probably already waiting and we are just gonna play and not get into trouble, I promise?”_

_Dad is smiling now, though he’s trying to hide it behind Becca’s head. It doesn’t really work, since Becca’s head is too small, she’s still only really tiny. Bucky has to work not to smile himself, he’s only won half the battle and Mom is usually a lot harder to convince. This time too: “I’m not sure, honey. I don’t like you spending so much time with that Rogers boy. He’s… strange.”_

_Bucky’s mouth drops open: “He’s_ not _! He just has_ asthma _!” It’s true – Stevie is just_ sick _, he’s not_ strange _! “I like him! He’s my friend!”_

_Mom is still frowning. “Still. I’m worried…”_

_Dad comes to Bucky’s help, because Dad is awesome: “Darling, come on. Let the boy go play with his friend, hm? What’s the worst that could happen, them skinning their knees? You worry too much, honey. Let the boys have some fun.”_

_And Dad is really awesome, because Mom sighs and rolls her eyes. “Alright, alright. Go on then, Bucky. But stay out of trouble! And be back in time for dinner, you hear?”_

_Bucky grins real wide and grabs his jacket so he doesn’t get sick like Stevie. “Thank you! Love you! Bye!”_

_He runs down the stairs and hears his Mom say: “I don’t know, Dad. There’s something about that Rogers boy, something in his eyes…”_

_But Bucky doesn’t care, because grown-ups are strange sometimes and Stevie is already there, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey Stevie, hey! Come on, let’s go – “_

 

“ – play!”

The others laugh, but Bucky does not. Steve’s idea of playing is not something most people would enjoy. Not at all. And this game of his today? Is _insane_. Good thing Bucky is not scared of heights or Steve’s plan would make him queasy just thinking about it. Actually… it _does_ make him queasy. Sliding along a thin zip line to reach a train travelling at high speed, while hanging over an abyss he can’t even see the bottom of, oh, and there’s the snow. And the wind. _Insane_. They’re so high up, if anyone of them were to slip, it would be a long, long time before he’d hit the ground.

Bucky stands at the edge of the plateau and looks down. There are the train tracks, barely visible through the falling snow. It’s supposed to clear up soon, maybe they’ll get some blue sky. It must be nice up here, in the sunshine…

Behind him the boys are setting up the equipment and arguing about whose time it is to make lunch. Next to him Steve is watching the train tracks with an anticipatory grin. And in front of Bucky is the abyss. If you’d fall down there, you’d die. Nobody would survive that.

He flinches when Steve is suddenly very close to him. “You’re not getting vertigo, are you?”

Bucky is cold all over. Snow clings to his eyelashes, his skin feels numb and brittle. But Steve’s hand on his wrist, stroking gently, is a fiery brand that burns through to his aching bones. “No.” he murmurs and wants to step away, pull his wrist from that grip. He doesn’t, stays right where he is. Where would he go?

Steve smiles. It’s a rather sweet smile, hiding his sharp teeth. “You’re not gonna fall. I’ll catch you.”

Yeah. That’s kind of the problem.

 

***

 

They eat their lunch, laughing and joking like they usually do when on a mission. They need an outlet for their nervousness and excitement, a way to release tension before shit starts to go down. Right before the action they get quiet, focused, but for a little while longer they’ll laugh and pretend they’re not worried. Steve’s plan is sick and insane, of _course_ they’re worried. Even the ones staying behind are. Steve’s plans have a tendency to work, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still scary as fuck, the thought of that thin zip line over a roaring abyss.

Dum-Dum chews on his cigar (it won’t stay lit, not in that wind, but he makes do) and throws barbs at Falsworth, who raises an eyebrow and makes sarcastic comments back in that posh accent of his that somehow makes every dry remark even more funny. Bucky smiles and tugs his jacket a little closer around himself. If it only could always be like this. Jokes, laughter, friends… Dernier’s sitting next to him, they’re all huddled against the rock where it shields them from the wind and Bucky leeches as much warmth off Dernier’s body as he can. Steve is somewhere else, off around the corner of the narrow path and Bucky can almost pretend he’s not here at all. That he’s alone among friends. Safe.

 

_“Hey, Stevie? Remember that girl Rosie we met the other day?”_

_“The one with the weird eyes? Yeah.”_

_“She doesn’t have weird eyes, she – nevermind. So I was meeting her today, to take her to Coney Island. Only she never showed up.”_

_“Huh. Strange.”_

_“Come on, Steve. Spill. Barry saw you talking to her, he told me. What did you say to her? You can’t keep telling my girls lies about me, seriously. Why do you have to keep ruining my game?”_

_“I didn’t tell her a thing about you, I swear.”_

_“Yeah, right.”_

_“Bucky, hey. I wouldn’t. I only said hi and introduced myself. Again. She had no idea who I was, can you imagine?”_

_“Really? Wow. I’m sorry, I really don’t get why that keeps happening!”_

_“Yeah well. They only see you, I’m used to it.”_

_“Shit, I’m sorry, Stevie…”_

_“Don’t worry, it’s okay. I told her who I was.”_

_“Alright. Still, I’m sorry.”_

_“Don’t be. So she never showed up, huh? Strange.”_

_“Yeah… hey, wanna go to Coney Island with me?”_

 

The laughing and talking, sitting close to his friends has made Bucky feel a bit warmer now. It’s nice, this. Just _being_ for a while. If it could only be like that forever, he wouldn’t even mind the snow. But it doesn’t stay like this, it ends: Steve comes back and puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Come on,” he says, “we gotta check on something.”

Bucky doesn’t want to. He knows what that means. He wants to stay here, feel Dernier’s warm arm against his, watch Dum-Dum forget his cigar isn’t lit and frown when sucking on it doesn’t work. He wants to… not have to do this. But Steve pulls him up and leads him away, Bucky follows on heavy legs that don’t seem to work properly, he would stumble if Steve’s arm around his shoulder (warm, companionable, inescapable) wouldn’t keep him upright. The others fall silent for a few seconds, they too know that if their Captain wants to ‘check on something’ with Bucky, it means he wants privacy. Nobody knows what it means for Bucky, but they don’t know Steve, do they? Not like Bucky knows Steve. They start talking again just as Steve leads Bucky around a corner on the narrow path. He can’t hear them anymore now, they’re too far away. He’s all alone, up on a mountain with Steve. No way out.

Steve fucks him against the side of the mountain. His big hands dig bruises into Bucky’s side, his teeth graze over his bite mark and open it up again, making blood trickle down over Bucky’s spine. He sobs quietly and tries to work through the pain, the fire, the agony in his ass. Steve’s smiling against his skin, he can feel it, a blood-red smile. Bucky bites down on the moss covering the rock he’s pressed against, something to muffle his cries. Steve doesn’t like it when he gets too loud. Steve laughs and murmurs at him, calling him ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’. The gentle words hurt worse than the brutal thrusts, tiny shards of ice piercing his heart that wishes, desperately, hopelessly, those words were true. The moss feels brittle and cold against his lips when he bites down on it until tiny pieces coat his tongue. It will never get flowers, tiny white blossoms in the spring. It’s broken now. Dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we all know what comes next... the train scene... THE scene. Mwahaha! :P


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, my darlings... the TRAIN SCENE, capslock and all...

“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?” Bucky says and stares down at the train. The zip line is so thin that Bucky can barely see it for more than 20 feet, beyond that it disappears completely in the snow and the howling wind. Suicidal, he thinks, this whole plan is suicidal. Fitting, isn’t it? Steve likes to kill and Bucky wants to be dead.

Steve grins. “Yeah, and I threw up?”

Bucky can remember Coney Island. The smell of popcorn and sugar, laughter in the air. Happy children everywhere, laughing adults, couples holding hands. Excited shrieks from the rides and the haunted house, a booth where they sell candied apples and oh, he can almost taste them…

“This isn’t payback, is it?” he asks and smiles a little, remembering a sunny, warm day on the Cyclone, Steve screaming like a girl while Bucky laughs when their stomachs flip and flop from the rollercoaster’s movement. Afterwards they bought cotton candy and sat on a bench by the water, watching the fading sun.

“Now why would I do that?” Steve grins and winks at him.

Bucky doesn’t smile back. He’s too busy wishing himself back to that sunny day on Coney Island, when everything still made sense. When Steve was Steve and not this… monster in human form. There is come trickling from his ass and down the insides of Bucky’s legs and he imagines it freezing in the coldness of the mountain. Like the river down there, sharp shards of ice in blue water.

 

_“Stevie? Do you think we’ll always be friends?”_

_“Of course! You’re my best friend in the whole world, Bucky. I’ll never leave you.”_

_“But we’ll havta get married someday and have a wife and kids.”_

_“No we don’t. We can stay together, just us. Forever.”_

_“Really? That’d be neat. Forever?”_

_“Forever.”_

 

The train arrives, the wind seems to howl louder. Ice prickles at the corners of Bucky’s eyes, is he crying? He can’t be. But it’s so cold up here, he’s frozen… he remembers a warm summer evening where he and Steve had a sleepover. Mom didn’t want to let them, but Dad allowed it: they slept up on the roof under the stars. A perfect night, warm and gentle. Back then it had sounded wonderful, what Steve had said. ‘I’ll never leave you’. ‘Forever’. Best friends for all eternity. Till the end of the line.

The line, the zip line, twangs in the wind. Steve’s already hooked his rope to it, it’s Bucky’s turn now. The line, the line. The thin, dark line leading down into the abyss. There’s a river down there, rushing along, towards the ocean. He can almost see the ocean from here (he can’t), he can imagine the sun over gentle waves (he can’t). The river ends there, he can almost see it. The zip line ends down there as well, on the train, their target. Bucky can’t see its end though. It’s too far away, the end of the line. It’s there, it must be, but he can’t see it.

 

_“Bucky, what do you want to be when you grow up?”_

_Not this_

_He used to want to be a firefighter or a policeman. Someone who helps people, saves them. Someone important, who makes a difference. And uniforms are great._

_Now, he’s all grown up. And all he wants is…_

_Not to be this_

_Not to be_

_Not_

 

Steve kisses him. Right where the others can see. He sometimes kisses him, but never when there are others around, not even their merry band of misfits. It’s a private thing for Steve, Bucky thinks. Or maybe he just has better manners than some people. He used to chide Bucky when he kissed his girls in public. Told him it wasn’t _proper_. But maybe he only said that because it wasn’t proper that Bucky kissed _girls_ and didn’t kiss _Steve_?

Steve’s usual kisses are less kisses and more… _devouring_. Teeth. Possession. Ownership. He bites Bucky’s lips when he kisses him. Sometimes he draws blood. Not like the sweet kisses Bucky has shared with soft, pretty dames. Not at all. Steve is not soft. But this kiss right now is… almost sweet. One could call it affectionate, when Steve pulls back amongst the whoops and catcalls from the others and says: “For good luck.”

One could call it affectionate, loving even, yes. But only if one didn’t see the way Steve’s eyes are glinting at Bucky, filled with an unholy, predatory gleam. He’ll bring Bucky Zola’s head, he’d said. Bucky doesn’t doubt he will. Neither does he doubt what else Steve has said: “When this is all over, you’ll be free. And mine forever, Bucky. Mine till the day we die.”

He’ll be free of Zola and the memories of what that man did to him, yes. But he’ll never be free.

 

_“Why are you doing this?”_

_Tears are still streaming down Bucky’s face, he sucks in big gulps of air, chest heaving with the effort. Every single inch of his body hurts, but the pain is worst between his legs, where he feels the phantom ache of Steve’s cock stretching him impossibly open. No lotion or oil this time, no preparation at all. Just the intrusion and the agony. He’s bleeding again, Steve tore him open. It made things easier, those brutal thrusts, Steve’s cock forcing its way inside. Bucky’s blood paved the way and that, that is worst of all: that he’s almost_ grateful _he tore, because otherwise it would have been even worse._

_“Why are you doing this to me, Steve?”_

_Bucky’s voice sounds shaky, thin, hopeless. He knows he won’t get the answer he wants or likes, but he has to ask. Why, why? Why, Stevie? What have I ever done to you?! Don’t you remember that time you twisted your ankle and I carried you home? Have you forgotten the times I saved you from a bully and patched up your bruised knuckles? Don’t you remember the days we spent out in the garden, lying on soft grass, looking for shapes in the clouds? I saw an elephant once…_

_Steve only chuckles and presses his mouth against Bucky’s neck. It’s not a kiss, even if there are lips on his skin, it’s something worse. “Shh, darling.”_

_Bucky shivers, tries to lean away, Steve pulls him back. He tried to fight Steve earlier, hasn’t yet given up. Got a punch in, right to Steve’s solar plexus. But he’s forgotten how strong Steve is now, so much stronger than Bucky. He’s not human anymore, maybe he never really was. Steve laughed, eyes glinting in amusement. He doesn’t mind it if Bucky fights, he says, he likes the challenge. He laughed, and then he held Bucky down and…_

_No. No. There’s something hard pressing against Bucky’s ass, something he knows, no, please, not again…_

_“Steve, Stevie, please, don’t…”_

_“Shh.” Steve murmurs again and smiles against Bucky’s neck. “Don’t fret, I’ll give you what you need…”_

_Bucky wants to scream because it hurts, it_ hurts _, but there’s no air left in his lungs, Steve has stolen his breath. Steve is suffocating him…_

_“Why?” He forces out, fingers clawing into the soft ground._

_Steve stills, strokes his side almost soothingly. “Why?” He repeats, sounding amused again. “Because I want to? Because I can? Because you’re mine?” He chuckles and licks over Bucky’s neck. “Take your pick, Bucky. This was always going to happen, love. You know that, don’t you? Forever, remember? We’ll be together forever.”_

_Then Bucky does scream. And Steve laughs._

 

The wind whips Bucky’s hair around while he clips his rope to the zip line. He thinks Gabe might be praying. Steve is smiling in feral anticipation. Bucky feels nothing.

The wind howls in his ears when they slide down the line. It sounds like screaming.

 

***

 

There’s blood all over the insides of the train car, making everything slippery and wet. In the corner a Hydra soldier is choking with a crushed windpipe, he’s better off than the other Hydra goon who’s staring at his torn-off arm and screaming and screaming. Steve is in formidable form today…

Bucky wants to throw up, but there’s no time. They’re under fire, Steve and him, he can’t see Gabe, has to trust the man is alright. Somewhere on this train is Zola, the reason they came here (Bucky shudders, remembers light glinting on glasses while Zola watches him writhe in agony), but between them and their target are Hydra soldiers. He shoots one, makes it quick, bullet to the head. Not like Steve who punches one so hard his entire jaw shifts sideways. More screams. Outside the wind is still howling, screaming as well.

 

_“What do you want to be when you’re grown up?”_

 

Blue light shines through the car, Bucky knows that particular blue, oh, he’s seen this weapon before. A Hydra goon rises from the shadows like an angel of death, carrying blue destruction in his hands. Bucky yells a warning –

 

_“You’re my best friend, Bucky. In the whole wide world.”_

 

The energy weapon fires, the entire wall of the train just… disappears when the beam is deflected off the shield and blasts through the wall. Steve hits the opposite wall with a thud, slumps down while the shield clatters over the floor. One crazy, insane second Bucky thinks he’s actually – that he’s – but no, Steve is moving, he’s alive, but he’s moving too slowly, way too slowly and the Hydra soldier is still advancing, death in his hands and –

 

_“What do you want to be when you grow up?”_

 

_Not this_

 

_I want to be_

_Free_

 

The shield, the shield, his only chance. He’s touched it before, Steve has let him hold it. Told him all about it, vibranium. Peggy shot at it and Steve didn’t feel a thing, the bullets just fell to the floor... Bucky grabs it, lifts it, stares at the Hydra soldier. The weapon fires, Steve yells and then –

 

_Steve loves him, in his own, twisted, sick way. But not like people are supposed to love each other. Steve’s love is teeth and claws, wants to possess and own. Steve’s love is consuming, dangerous. Steve’s love will destroy Bucky, it has already started to do so. Steve’s love rips pieces away, from Bucky’s body, his soul. He’s brittle, fragile, too weak against Steve’s so-called love. He’ll perish because Steve’s love burns._

 

When Bucky first lifted Steve’s shield he was surprised at how light it was. Surely something this thin and light can’t possibly offer any protection against something more powerful than a… a stick?! But he’s seen Steve take a blast from a _tank_ with that thing, being pushed back a few steps, but not going down. The shield is pretty damn impressive once Bucky sees what Steve can do with it, even if it’s still incredibly weird to bring a _shield_ to a battle with _tanks_.

The shield is both a defensive tool and a weapon for Steve. He throws it like a Frisbee, knocking down enemy soldier with ease and catches it when it returns like a boomerang. Bucky has wanted to try his hands at it for a while now, he’s gotten curious, but he never got an opportunity to do more than lift it before Steve took it away with a condescending smile and told him Bucky wasn’t strong enough to use it.

Now the shield is in his hands and he lifts it, right when the energy weapon fires. His only chance at defending himself before he’s consumed by blue fire, he steels himself against the impact…

The energy beam hits the shield. The shield does what it always does, but the weapon is powerful. And Bucky is not nearly as strong as Steve. He is blasted right through the wall.

 

_Steve will never let him go, never. He came after him to Europe, into a war he had no reason to be in if it wasn’t for Bucky. He went behind enemy lines to get him back, he’s killed hundreds of men to get to Bucky. Steve will never, ever let him go. The line, oh, till the end of the line. That line is a trap, a chain binding him inescapably tight. No end in sight, no way out. No way out…_

 

The wind is howling again, screaming into Bucky’s ears. Steve is screaming too, trying to reach him, arm straining towards Bucky’s hand where he’s hanging from the side of the train. Steve is screaming, the wind is screaming, but inside Bucky’s head there is silence.

There it is. The end of the line. He can see it…

There is a way out. He should have known. It’s right there, he can just take it. No, not take it. _Let go_.

Bucky opens his hand and he falls.

The wind is silent. No more screams. He can’t hear Steve anymore. It’s over. The end of the line. It’s over…

Bucky smiles while he’s falling. Free, he’s free, he’s –

The river swallows him whole.

 

Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Sorry. Okay, no, I'm not sorry. I'm sorry though that I'm not sorry? ;)


End file.
